


The French Deception

by delicious-irony (deliciousirony), supernatural9917



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Aristocracy, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Deception, F/F, F/M, False Identity, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Matchmaker Charlie Bradbury, Misunderstandings, Napoleonic Wars, Naval Captain Dean Winchester, No Homophobia, SPN Regency Big Bang 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicious-irony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernatural9917/pseuds/supernatural9917
Summary: Lord James Emmanuel Stephen Castiel Scott, second son of a duke, has returned to Britain after years spent in France as a spy in the wars against Napoleon. His childhood friend Lady Celeste Middleton, Marchioness of Bradbury (Charlie to her friends), invites him to a house party in the country so she can play matchmaker: she knows that her friend Sir Dean Winchester is perfect for Castiel. When he declines her invitation, she invents a tale of intrigue with which to entice him. He insists on playing the part of a displaced Frenchman to identify her extortionist. His prime suspect? Sir Dean Winchester, who is clearly a fortune hunter.Sir Dean Winchester tried to rescue his estate by making his fortune in His Majesty’s Navy, but was cheated out of his rightful prize. Forced to retire when his father died, he needs to marry for money to pay off his father’s debts.  When Lady Bradbury invites them to her house party, he hopes to make a match among her wealthy friends. Unfortunately, the only one who catches his eye is the mysterious - and sadly impoverished - émigré Castiel Novacque. As time goes on and they grow closer, Dean begins to wonder if he really is willing to give up the hope of love for the sake of money.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Sarah Blake/Sam Winchester
Comments: 50
Kudos: 140
Collections: I love you so, SPN Regency Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Supernatural9917:** I told myself I wasn't going to sign up for any more bangs for a while, and then Regency bang happened. My first fandom life was in the world of Pride and Prejudice fanfiction that exploded after the 1995 BBC adaptation (otherwise known as the _only_ adaptation, Colin Firth 4 LIFE), and I spent the early 2000s writing a whole lot of Darcy/Elizabeth ~~smut~~ fic, so there was absolutely no way I could let this one pass me by. Deli and I started chatting about it, and she proposed a co-writing adventure. Although we've worked together many times before, this was the first time she joined me in the writing instead of just co-plotting, and it's the first of our joint ventures that we put forward for art claims instead of her doing the art. I hope you'll agree that the partnership has worked well!
> 
> A few notes on the fic itself. We couldn't be bothered with period-typical homophobia, so we decided to set it in a world where nobody cares about that sort of thing and gay marriage is legal and fully accepted. We've made a very strong effort to keep all language period-appropriate and avoid anachronisms, but there's always a chance something has slipped the net. There is one purposeful anachronism: Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch is a real place in Wales, but didn't actually get this name until the late 19th century as part of a publicity stunt when the railways came through. I've decided to ignore that historical fact because it was too perfect not to have as Gabriel's place of origin. The other titles are also invented rather than try to shoehorn the characters into real family trees, but Castiel's family holdings are loosely based on those of the Duke of Buccleugh, whose family name is Scott and who owns land and houses in Scotland and England.
> 
> A big thank you to my beta, Athaclena, and to our wonderful artist, sissyray84, who made us so much lovely art! Please be sure to visit the [art masterpost](https://twitter.com/thestarkeeper21/status/1307704044836839425?s=20) and give it some love!
> 
> **Deliciousirony:** Supernatural9917 brought up the idea of taking part, and since I love me a good regency fic, I was all for it. Many thanks to the mods for making this happen, and so quickly as well!  
> Make no mistake, while I’m reasonably well-versed in the glory that is the regency novel, Supernatural9917 is a true master and has been very gracious in sharing her knowledge. Plotting this has been so much fun, as has been putting the boys in (occasionally soaked through) breeches 😉 As to the gritty realities of this endeavour, Supernatural9917 provided the majority of the words - I will be forever in awe at the speed at which she did - and was the administrative mastermind behind it. Let it be known that I owe her SO MANY pumpkin seeds - love you! Even if you do not appreciate even the music of the 2005 adaptation, which I quite like 😉  
> Sissyray84 has made wonderful art for this fic - and so much of it as well! I love her style and I think she’s captured the scenes as well as the spirit of the fic outstandingly well. Thank you so much for your work!

__

_Bath, 6 July 1815_

_My dearest Anna,_

_You know not how delighted your last letter made me! To know that our dear Castiel is back on home shores now that the Corsican ogre is defeated has brought me a joy and relief I can hardly describe. However, you must tell him that I feel very ill used by his bypassing us completely and taking passage direct to Leith! I know he would like to be back in the bosom of his family, but I dearly wished to see him after so long. I know you will not begrudge me the favour of passing him the small note enclosed herein- I know it is not strictly proper, but he is as a brother to me, and when have you ever known me to be completely proper, my dear Anna? _

_I am sorry that your confinement means we will not have the pleasure of your company at Bradbury this year, but know that I am nearly as eager as you to meet your impending arrival, and will impatiently await the invitation to the christening! How wonderful that dear Lord Milton will attend you at the birth, and that you are dispensing with the old lying-in traditions. I am truly grateful that we live in a modern age of science and reason, and that you have married such a sensible young man. I wish my dear friends the Messrs Winchester could have benefitted from such modernity- their poor mother was a victim of the foul humours and puerperal fever of the lying-in chamber of old. I sigh to think of how different their lives may now be had that lady survived the ordeal!_

_But here I go, wittering on about the Winchesters again. You must think me a mother hen with how I go on about them, but having met them last winter season, I am certain you cannot blame me. Young Sam is the very model of a learned young gentleman, and how the world has not yet fallen at Dean’s feet, I am sure I do not know. One would have thought that the lack of fortune could be overcome with one look at him in his naval uniform. Were I not strictly sapphic in my leanings, I should have considered marrying him myself simply to ensure that those freckles pass on to the next generation! Happily, the two young men have completed their mourning period for their father (little though he deserved it, may God forgive me for my lack of charity!) and have consented to join the party at Bradbury._

_HOWEVER, I did not like your message that your cruel brother has refused my invitation. I beg you to work on him and change his mind. Use every feminine wile at your disposal, and please do not hesitate to use your sadness at being unable to attend yourself to guilt and shame him into it! Demand that he attend so he can write you letters of all the delights of the Oxfordshire summer that he is experiencing on your behalf. I hope that my own beseeching in that little note will move him sufficiently, but if not, I am depending on you, my dearest!_

_I will eagerly await your next, which I have no doubt will include the happiest of news._

_Your friend always,_

_Charlie_

_Bath, 6 July 1815_

_My dear Castiel,_

_I hope you will excuse the impropriety and familiarity, but I am in desperate need of your aid. A little over a week ago, I received a letter threatening to expose to wider society a foolish indiscretion of mine if I did not accede to the mysterious writer’s demands. I ignored it at first, thinking it some cruel jape, but it was followed by another just this morning with even more pressing directives. I am ashamed to say I have paid the first sum demanded of me, but it is clear that my extortionist will expect more to keep this quiet. I have narrowed the list of suspects to a small group of friends, all of whom I have invited to Bradbury for the same house party which you have refused to attend. I must beg you to reconsider, for I feel you are the only one I can trust to help me, and certainly the only one clever enough to solve the mystery of the fiend’s identity. Please write post-haste and say you will come. We repair to the country in ten days, and I need my friend by my side._

_Yours etc._

_Charlie_

Lady Celeste Middleton, Marchioness of Bradbury, Charlie to her friends, set down her pen with great satisfaction at her own cleverness. It would, of course, have been better if Castiel had just agreed to attend her house party, but this little ruse would certainly draw him out. His taste for intrigue was what had taken him to France seven years earlier, and she counted on it not being diminished just yet. Even if it had, she knew that his affection for her as nearly another sister would induce him to be protective, so there was little doubt that he would soon be writing to assure her of his presence at Bradbury. There was no blackmail of course; there _had_ been a small indiscretion with a young lady a bit too far below Charlie’s station for it to be wise, but first of all, they had not been caught, and second, no one cared about that sort of thing nowadays.

Fortunately, Castiel did not know that. He had been back to England only a handful of times in the last seven years, and in those brief visits, had not made the least attempt to keep up with fashions, gossip or indeed anything else to do with society. She had always found his somewhat misanthropic tendencies amusing, and now they were also useful. 

Charlie could not reveal to him her true reason for wanting him there, besides the obvious desire to spend time with her dear childhood friend, for that would have been the surest way to prevent him from visiting ever again. But she was certain, _absolutely_ certain, that she need only introduce him to Sir Dean Winchester, baronet of (fittingly) Winchester, for the pair to fall madly in love. The only question would be whether they waited to marry properly, or if their passions would induce them to elope to Gretna Green within hours of the introduction. She had no doubt at all in her matchmaking ability; she just knew she would not be able to crow about it until after the marriage, for as in all things when dealing with men, they would have to be convinced that it had all been their own idea.

The letter to Anna, with the secret note for Castiel inside, was dispatched with the next post, and Charlie spent the rest of her day preparing for the trip into the country. By her calculations, the letter would arrive at Inveresk House, a few miles outside Edinburgh in Haddingtonshire, in four days. Castiel (as he was known to his friends; Lord James Emmanuel Stephen Castiel Scott, second son of the Duke of Inveresk, as he was known in Debrett’s) would doubtless write back within an hour of reading her note, and probably follow its progress within a day or two. Assuming he took the barouche-landau, he could be at Bradbury within the fortnight. The party would only be a few days old, and his arrival would provide added excitement to the affair. 

After all, who would not get excited by the second son of a duke, particularly one as handsome as Castiel?

**********

_Inveresk House, 10 July 1815_

_My dear Charlie,_

_I know not what you wrote in your little note to Castiel, but it had him tearing about his rooms like a madman for half an hour before declaring that he would ride south immediately with instructions for his trunks to follow post-haste! I hope all is well and that no misfortune has befallen you to cause him to dash away so suddenly. Your letter to me seemed perfectly calm, so unless I hear otherwise, I shall assume that you used some ruse to induce him to attend your party, and he has simply over-dramatised the urgency of the situation. He has been so long in France, after all._

_I am still waiting for the little one’s arrival, much to my chagrin. I had so hoped that this letter would bear the joyous tidings. Instead, I have the unfortunate task of reporting that my eldest brother is suffering yet another bout of ague, which has plagued him from time to time ever since his Grand Tour in ‘01. As always, Michael bears it with fortitude, but God forgive me, his wife tries my patience every moment! Every time this happens, she frets and cries about how she has not been able to give Michael an heir, as if Cas would turn her out to starve in the hedgerows should the worst come to pass and he became duke. Foolish woman!_

_I do hope your party goes well. I notice that you have not told me who else you have invited besides the Winchesters. Are you trying to be coy, my dear, or am I to understand that the daughter of the Earl of Harvelle is no longer in your favour? (Here you must imagine me arching a sceptical and knowing brow!)_

_My next will be sent to Bradbury, and with any luck, will contain the joyous news we all await!_

_Yours etc_

_Anna_

Charlie had scarce finished reading Anna’s letter when there was a knock at the door. Moments later, and to her astonishment, her butler announced the arrival of Lord James Scott. She ordered tea and hastened to the foyer, where Castiel was handing his coat and hat to a footman, still looking dusty from the road.

‘Castiel! Do not tell me you have this moment dismounted your horse! You are only just behind the post!’

‘My Lady,’ he bowed. ‘I came as swiftly as I could.’

‘Do not “My Lady” me, you silly ass!’ she exclaimed, running into his arms without a care for the dirt and sweat that transferred to her dress. ‘We shared a nursery, how dare you stand on ceremony!’

Castiel smiled and squeezed her tightly. ‘I see you have not changed a bit, Charlie.’

‘I am an adult only as a formality of age,’ she replied impishly, dragging him by the hand to the parlour. ‘Now tell me, how did you arrive in Bath so quickly?’

‘I left almost as soon as I received your letter. We must devise a stratagem to discover your extortionist.’ 

Charlie gaped at him. ‘You rode hard for five days over that little triviality?’

‘Blackmail is hardly a triviality. Besides, we needed time to come up with the details of the subterfuge.’

‘Subterfuge?’

Before Castiel could reply, the maid brought them their tea. They waited until she had served them and left again to continue the conversation. ‘Of course. If your guests know who I am, they may be too intimidated, and I would not be able to investigate properly. We must take advantage of the fact that few people know me due to my long residence in France. I propose playing the character of a displaced French gentleman; as few people know my familiar name, I can go by that, which saves having to train myself to respond to a new name. For a surname, I can continue to use the name I occasionally used in France when I needed to hide my identity. Castiel Novacque, at your service.’ He said the last in a French accent, bowing with as much flourish as he could manage from his chair.

Charlie gaped at her friend. ‘You… wish to play-act the role of a Frenchman to discover who sent me the threats of exposure?’

‘ _Mais oui, mademoiselle!_ If people know zat I am ze son of a duke, zey will be too, what is ze word, deferential to be frank.’ Castiel grinned and changed his accent to one that would be more at home in his native Haddingtonshire, rolling his Rs obscenely. ‘Or do ye think I should play the wild Scotsman? Perhaps I can convince yer guests that I am the mysterious author of _Waverley_.’

‘I cannot decide which of your feigned accents is more offensive,’ Charlie teased with a wrinkled nose, ‘but as Mr Crowley will be in attendance, perhaps you should pursue your first inclination.’

‘Good old Fergus, eh?’ Castiel asked, back to his usual speech. ‘Do you think he will know me?’

‘He has not seen you for nigh on twenty years. If you are not introduced to him as yourself, I do not see why he should suspect your identity. But really, Cas, I do not think such a masquerade will be necessary. This is merely a trifling thing, hardly worth the effort.’

‘Nonsense. You are like a sister to me, and I will not stand by whilst some fiend tries to dishonour you. Now, will I know any of the others in the party?’

‘I should not think so. Miss Joanna Harvelle was not yet out when you departed, and her parents would not have been in your circle, so her mother Lady Ellen Lanley would not know you either. Jo… that is, Miss Harvelle, is coming with her school friend, Miss Sarah Blake. Her family is, shall we say, newly raised into society.’

Castiel’s eyebrows went up, though whether due to Charlie’s blushes over Miss Harvelle or curiosity about Miss Blake’s situation, Charlie did not wish to know. ‘Trade, or was her mother an actress who captured an aristocrat?’

Charlie smacked his arm. ‘Do not be vulgar! Her grandfather ran a very prosperous inn and stables in Hertfordshire, and his beneficial geography meant that when the old king’s horse threw a shoe nearby, Mr Blake had the good fortune of providing food and drink while the blacksmith did his duty. The king elevated him to the knighthood for his service, which put his son in the way of a wealthier lady than would otherwise have been possible, and now Miss Sarah Blake is quite respectable indeed.’

‘Add a ghost and a mad Italian and that could have come right out of Mrs Radcliffe’s works,’ Castiel said with a smile. ‘And are she and Miss Harvelle…’ He trailed off to leave the implication.

‘No, not at all! They are like sisters,’ Charlie replied quickly. ‘Miss Harvelle is the daughter of a viscount, she must set her sights much higher.’ She blushed again, and Castiel smirked at her.

‘Such as on a marchioness, perhaps?’

‘Hush!’ she admonished him, hitting his arm again. ‘Anyway, the rest of the party consists of gentlemen. There is Lord Gabriel, Baron Llanfairpwllgwyngyll, who is-’

‘Baron what?’ Castiel laughed. ‘I take it he is of Welsh extraction.’

‘You are lucky he goes by that title. The full name of the town is Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. And yes, it took me weeks to learn how to say it properly.’

‘My goodness, that cannot possibly be real!’

‘I saw it myself on a map. Lord Gabriel claims that it was given that name simply to thwart the English invaders, making them choke to death on their own tongues.’

‘As a Scot, there is a part of me that must admire such a legend.’

‘I am certain that the two of you will get along. You can mock the English together, whether you are in your French guise or not,’ Charlie teased. ‘Completing the party are my neighbours from Bath, Sir Dean Winchester, amusingly enough, the baronet of Winchester, and his younger brother, Mr Sam Winchester.’

‘How could a mere baronet afford to be your neighbour in Bath?’ Castiel asked suspiciously. ‘Surely your address is far too fashionable and expensive.’

‘Not that it is your business,’ she glared, ‘but the main estate was let when Sir Dean’s late father took ill two years ago, and the income was used to procure the greatest comfort they could obtain for him. Sir John died in the winter, God rest his soul, and his sons have just completed their mourning. They have had a tragic life, and I mean to provide them with entertainment now that they are free to enjoy it.’

‘Hmm,’ was Castiel’s only reply. ‘Well, I look forward to meeting all your friends, and to returning to Bradbury. I have many happy childhood memories of running back and forth between our estates. Does the village still have that fine horse chestnut tree?’

‘On the green, by the smithy? Of course. Will you still lend me your breeches to go riding in?’ Charlie teased.

‘Certainly not. I still feel my mother’s switch from the last time. I do not trust that she would not rise from the grave to use it again.’ 

They both laughed, and now firmly on a path of reminiscence, continued along it until Castiel was nearly drooping from exhaustion. Charlie tried to insist that he remain her guest until the departure to the country two days hence, but Castiel would not hear of such impropriety; after all, he was ‘a stranger to zese shores’ (as he resumed his French accent), and it would not do to spend the night alone and unchaperoned in the house of the Marchioness of Bradbury. He would stay at an inn before riding out with the rest of the party to Oxfordshire. 

Charlie smiled and waved until his horse was out of sight, then threw her head back and groaned. Anna had been right about Castiel’s new flair for the dramatic, and it would not do at all for her matchmaking scheme if Castiel were pretending to be some strange Frenchman for the duration of the party. She had two days to convince him to be himself without admitting that she had invented the threats; doing so carried the danger of him departing in a fit of pique without ever laying eyes on Dean Winchester, and _that_ she could not risk.

**********

Castiel was concerned. Charlie had always been a bit devil-may-care, not particularly concerned with propriety or her own reputation, but this seemed careless even for her. Not only having an indiscretion with someone inappropriate, but getting caught by an unscrupulous individual who now had her in their thrall… and then she had tried to wave it away as if it were nothing! Well, she may not care for her own good name, but Castiel did, and he would protect her if she would not protect herself.

He had been too tired the night before to think on the subject too deeply, but a good night of rest in a comfortable inn had sharpened his mind again. Opening a new note-book for the purpose, he wrote down his thoughts on the guests Charlie had told him about. There were three obvious suspects: Miss Blake and the Winchester brothers. They would have a clear pecuniary motive, which a baron, a daughter of a viscount, and one of Scotland’s wealthiest untitled landowners would not have. 

Of course, there could be other motives. There was an implication of a _tendresse_ between Charlie and Miss Harvelle; if either the lady herself or her mother had discovered Charlie’s peccadillo, there could be a desire for retribution. Castiel had not met Mr Crowley since boyhood, but he knew from correspondence with his family that the man loved gossip, dramatics, and money, and this affair encompassed all three. Finally, there was Baron Llanfairpw… Lord Gabriel, whom Castiel did not know at all, and therefore could not make a guess for any reason he might have to extort Charlie. He would have to observe the man when they met at Bradbury.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel’s determination to dissemble could not be shaken, so Charlie added to his story that they were cousins in order to give a good excuse for their acquaintance and his invitation. They travelled together as far as Oxford, where Castiel would stay for a night to visit friends, while Charlie continued to Bradbury to await her guests who would arrive the following day. Lady Lanley, Miss Harvelle and Miss Blake were first to arrive, and the rest joined them in quick succession. The Winchesters were last to arrive, save for Castiel, but within half an hour Dean had managed to charm the entire party and Sam was sharing shy smiles with Miss Blake. Charlie could not help but smile at her friends, who had faced so many struggles and yet remained so cheerful and warm rather than letting it turn them against the world.

‘I assure you, I much prefer a quiet night at home with a book than a ball,’ she heard Dean saying to Lord Gabriel when she approached with her glass of wine. Lord Gabriel scoffed, but Dean pressed his point. ‘It is true! Even a civilised house party such as this can become overmuch for me. At least in the country I can escape into outdoor pursuits. Do not be surprised if you find me at the lake with a fishing pole in hand instead of playing parlour games or singing at the pianoforte.’

Charlie snorted. ‘You would be wasting your time, Sir Dean.’

Dean looked at Charlie with mock horror. ‘How dare you, madam? I lived on the sea for over a dozen years. I am a consummate fisherman.’

‘I do not doubt it, but-’

‘It sounds as if you do doubt it,’ Lord Gabriel interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘I hope you will not tolerate such a defamation of your abilities, Sir Dean.’

‘I will not, sir,’ Dean said with a grin. Turning to Charlie, he continued, ‘In fact, I shall go so far as to propose a wager. I will bring home a fish from your lake for my breakfast tomorrow, or I will accept any forfeit you design should I fail.’

Charlie considered this, and realised it would fit neatly with her matchmaking intentions. Castiel would arrive on the morrow, and what better way to make an impression than by showing Dean in a most advantageous light? ‘Very well, Sir Dean, I accept. Your forfeit will be to join me at the pianoforte for a duet.’

‘I do not play the pianoforte,’ Dean replied with a frown.

‘Of course not. _I_ shall play the pianoforte, and _you_ shall sing.’

Dean’s eyes grew wide. ‘Sing? In company?’

‘I do not understand why you are so loath to do so. Your voice is delightful, and I will have you sing in my parlour,’ Charlie insisted.

Dean smirk returned. ‘Only if I am unsuccessful. Now if you will excuse me, I will have to rise early if I want to catch my breakfast. Lord Gabriel, Lady Bradbury.’ With a bow, he excused himself from the rest of the party and retired to his room.

‘Lord Gabriel, you know full well that we have not restocked the lake this year,’ Charlie scolded, but the baron only smiled more widely.

‘Aye, but young Sir Dean does not.’

**********

Hoping, perchance, to be able to secure an advantageous match, Dean had brought his better clothing, appropriate for a house party and the occasional ball. However, his years in the navy had taught him to always have a set of clothes at hand that he would not mind dirtying, especially given his financial constraints in carelessly affording new clothes. He changed into a still respectable, if slightly more worn but obviously well-cared for set of clothes, light breeches, a beige linen shirt with the occasional patch that would, however, not be visible with the dark jacket on top. 

The gentlemen met outside on the terrace and strolled down towards the lake. One of the groundsmen met them on their path down, carrying a bucket of bait. At the far side of the lake, servants had already prepared and set up fishing equipment, a good selection of fishing rods, nets and buckets.

Dean was quick to select a sturdy rod and bait that he deemed appropriate for the kind of fish to be found in a lake such as this and set out to a shadowed spot slightly apart from the others. In hindsight, the wager seemed a silly idea and Dean felt slightly nauseated at the thought of having to sing in front of the assembled house party. Casting his line, he dreaded what the evening would bring. He was here to find someone - anyone? - suitable who was willing to marry a semi-impoverished baronet; surely embarrassing himself and assaulting the company’s ears would be counterproductive to that goal. 

Dean could hear the other gentlemen joking and laughing and snorted to himself - hopefully with all that rumpus to contend with, the fish would much more appreciate a quiet spot such as his. Sadly, so far it seemed as if the other men were chasing the fish off completely, and slowly but surely, with every casting of his line, Dean moved away a bit further. 

The afternoon moved along, and time had progressed enough for servants to come down to the lake with refreshments and tea, when the sky darkened and faint rumbling could be heard in the distance. Sam came to Dean, as he had not wanted to trouble the servants to run after his brother.

'Dean, the groundskeeper says the weather is going to get worse quite quickly now that those clouds over there have passed the river,' Sam said, pointing towards dark, towering clouds to the west. 'The servants have already started taking the tea back, we shall have it inside.'

Dean shrugged. 'You go ahead, I will follow in a bit. Once all the noise has stopped, I might still get lucky and catch my breakfast,' he said. 

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Why are you so intent on catching that damn fish? Do not tell me it is because you are being obstinate and prideful,' he said. 'no one would dare question your abilities as a captain, let alone as a baronet, based on whether you manage to catch a fish, Dean, you know that, right?'

Dean concentrated very hard on his fishing rod. 

'Dean?' Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean fidgeted.

'Of course I know,' he said. 'I just really want that fish for breakfast. You run along inside, I will be right there. Shortly.'

Sam sighed explosively. 'All right, I will bite, which is more than your breakfast is doing. Why are you so intent on catching a fish? You haven’t had fish for breakfast since you returned from the navy, and I quote, “because no one should have to deal with fried fish on an empty stomach if there is perfectly good pie to be had”, and I know for a fact that Lady Bradbury always has her cook serve pie for every meal if you are here as a favour to you. So. Why this sudden obsession with fish?’

Dean crumpled. As if to illustrate his mood, the wind picked up noticeably and a fine rain started coming down. 'Lady Bradbury may have manoeuvred me into placing a bet,' Dean hedged. 

Sam looked distinctly unimpressed. 'And what are the terms of that wager, might I ask? I am quite certain that you are not of such a bullish disposition that a failure to defend your fish-catching-prowess would trouble you this much.'

'If I do not manage to catch my breakfast in the lake, I shall have to join her at the pianoforte,' Dean groaned. 

'But you like singing and you have a splendid voice to boot,' Sam said, perplexed. 

Dean’s face took on a sour expression. 'You are much too forgiving, and at the very least obliged to be so for being my sibling.' Dean cast his line again. Sam crossed his arms and just stared at him, confident that Dean would own up to his true concerns, sooner or later. Experience had shown that it tended to be sooner than later. Dean hunched his shoulders. 'You know as well as I that I need a good match to restore the estate.'

'I do, and I have told you plenty of times that this burden does not rest solely on your shoulders.' Sam sighed. 'Besides, I fail to see how not catching a fish impacts that goal negatively, given that neither you nor, hopefully, your future spouse are seals.'

Almost dropping his rod in frustration, Dean threw up one hand. 'Well no, but the singing just might!'

Sam stared at Dean. 'Dean you are my brother, and forgive me for telling you this, but you are an idiot. I am going inside now, I can feel the drizzle soaking through my jacket already.'

Sam turned around and hastened back to the house.

Stubbornly, Dean stayed, picked another fat worm for the hook, and cast his line again. And again. The rain had intensified and slowly the house was disappearing behind a grey wall. Dean was completely soaked and getting cold, and he was just about to admit to himself that he would have to swallow his discontent and sing, when lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a clap of thunder loud enough to rattle Dean’s teeth. Dean was well aware of the dangers of being outside in a thunderstorm such as this, and gathering up his equipment, he hurried back to the house, leaning into the wind and trying to shield his face from the pouring rain with his arm. 

The closest entrance to the house was the servants’ entrance next to the kitchen, so this was where Dean snuck inside. Also, he assumed that Lady Bradbury would be less than delighted to have Dean show up like a drenched chicken on the fine carpet in her hall. Dean quickly shut the door behind himself, having to push quite hard to close it against the wind. Called by the commotion, one of the kitchen maids came over, blushing bright red when she came upon Dean. 

'Sir?' she asked, obviously lost for words. 

Dean could feel himself blushing rather furiously. 'I happened to come into a spot of rain on my way back to the house,' he explained. 'There wouldn’t be a servants' staircase or any way I could get back to my room to change without the entire party becoming privy to my misfortune?'

The maid nodded vigorously and rushed forward to grab the fishing gear. 'Of course, sir. I’ll take care of this, sir.' 

She handed the fishing equipment to one of the gardeners, who had come into the kitchen to escape the weather, and led Dean through the back corridors until he found himself at the servants’ door in the entrance hall, just to the back of the grand staircase. The maid gave a curtsy, glanced at Dean, blushed even more, and hurried off again.

Looking down at himself, Dean was only too aware of the reason the maid had blushed - he blushed himself, just at his own state. He had pulled off the jacket and wrung it out a little when he had come inside, but there had been little use in pulling it on again, wet and cold as it was. His shirt, however, was completely soaked through, and it being of light colour, it showed… everything. It clung to his skin, his nipples tenting the fabric with how they had perked up in the cold, and in general left little to the imagination. Cringing, Dean acknowledged that he was not fit for company, not even of servants and that the maid probably deserved a raise, given that his equally light-coloured trousers were now, for lack of a better word, equally translucent as his light-coloured shirt. His only, only somewhat, saving grace where the unmentionables he wore underneath. Dripping wet as everything was, they did little to hide what Dean had, but at least his skin wasn’t visible the way it was on his chest under the shirt. Wincing at every squelch of his boots, Dean made for the staircase to change into much drier and much more appropriate clothes before anyone saw him. 

So intent was he on figuring out the most effective way to drape his jacket around his hips to hide both his front and his backside that he did not notice the other gentleman who was rushing towards the stairs until they ran right into each other. 

**********

Castiel had arrived at Bradbury just before the thunderstorm had struck and had been introduced to the party as displaced, down-on-his-luck Frenchman Castiel Novacque as everybody settled in for tea. Charlie had tried to hide a somewhat maniacal grin when she had told him that the last member of the party, one Dean Winchester, baronet, was not here at the moment but would join them for dinner and, very likely, also join her at the pianoforte in the evening’s diversions. Most of the party seemed to be pleasant enough individuals, but Castiel did not have any time to get to know them, let alone for a cup of tea, because Charlie suddenly insisted most vehemently that Castiel absolutely needed to go to his room first, _now_ in fact, to freshen up and divest himself of his travel clothes in favour of an unsullied set.

Somewhat disconcerted by Charlie’s sudden urgency, Castiel assumed that it had something to do with his disguise; he gave his excuses, promising he would be back in time for the evening meal, and then hurried back to the entrance hall and towards the stairs. So intent was he on figuring out what had Charlie in such a flurry that he did not notice the other man who was rushing towards the stairs until they ran right into each other. Castiel automatically grabbed the other man’s - pleasantly muscular but surprisingly wet - shoulders to keep him from falling. 

Once they had both righted themselves, Castiel found himself staring at a vision that had to have stepped right out of a wet dream into wet reality. The man in front of him was thoroughly soaked and decidedly underdressed. Castiel found it embarrassingly hard to drag his eyes up to the man’s face, given that there was so much that his eyes caught on in their journey there. 

The view was decidedly appealing, but once Castiel had indeed reached the man’s face, he realised how horribly embarrassed the man looked. Given the simple clothes and that the man had obviously come from the servants’ door, Castiel inferred that the man was a servant and realised simultaneously that he himself was behaving in the fashion of the worst kind of noble, a complete cad, for ogling a servant the way he was. Castiel would go so far as to say that he was undressing the servant with his eyes, except that, given the state of the servant, there was little point in undressing him; especially since the little that was hidden only served to make the sight more tantalising. The man had turned a bright red and with an inarticulate sound suddenly turned on his heels and dashed up the stairs before Castiel could apologise for his extremely rude behaviour. 

Castiel sighed; running after the man now would only make the situation worse. It would be much better to give the man time to take care of his apparel and to get past his embarrassment a little. Walking up the stairs at a much slower pace than the servant, Castiel decided that he would go find the man later to render his apology. 

On his way to his room he found himself lamenting the fact that the exceedingly handsome man was a servant. Given the man’s station, he could not be considered for any sort of respectable connection, and an affair between someone of his own rank and a common servant would be morally reprehensible to say the least; the man would undoubtedly feel little choice in acquiescing to Castiel’s wishes should he voice them, and while others might take advantage of that position, Castiel chastised himself for even having such torrid thoughts in the first place. He hoped that, if he just focussed on Charlie’s problems enough, he might not be bothered any further by visions of soaked servants. If he decided to take a moment to himself before dressing for dinner to relieve some of the tension that had taken up residence in his groin at the sight of the man’s shapely rear as he had sprinted up the stairs, then no one needed to know.

In the meantime, Dean more or less fell into his room, threw the door closed behind him, and slid down to the floor leaning against it. He felt as if he had died of embarrassment; something that seemed disturbingly likely, given the angel who had saved him from crashing face first into the staircase. Dean had travelled the world during his time as a captain in the navy and he had seen his fair share of beguiling sights, but never had he met a single being that fulfilled every single one of his fantasies quite like this. 

The stranger was obviously a gentleman and likely to be a guest at Lady Bradbury’s party, and at that thought Dean wanted to die of mortification. What a dreadful first impression Dean had made! There was absolutely nothing redeemable about it, and Dean could not even think about meeting the gentleman downstairs in a proper setting later on - at least not without bursting spontaneously into flames. He had been very gallant about Dean’s half-naked state and not said a word, but then, Dean had taken off as if all the devils of hell had been behind him before the man had been able to say a single word. Dean dropped his head on his knees. Not enough that he had embarrassed himself by losing the bet and having to sing, now he would have to do it in front of the stranger. Dean suddenly felt intense regret that he had not thrown himself overboard a ship when he had had the chance. 

There was nothing to be done for it now, however. The best he could do was hope the man would not say anything to the other guests about the compromising situation in which he had seen Dean. Until he knew what would happen, there was no point in dwelling on it. Instead, he called for a bath to be drawn and set about making himself presentable for company. He sent a message down with his valet Fitzgerald to explain and apologise for his lateness to Lady Bradbury, and when the bath was filled, settled into it and tried to come up with reasons why he should not just drown himself in it to escape the humiliation that was to come.

In the drawing room, Fitzgerald found Charlie in conversation with the lately-arrived gentleman and passed on Dean’s message. Her ladyship was clearly trying to hide her laughter behind her fan and she nodded her thanks and dismissed him.

Castiel was better at hiding his surprise than Charlie was at hiding her amusement. So the damp gentleman he had seen on the stairs was Sir Dean Winchester, one of his prime suspects. On the bright side, the man was not a servant but a titled gentleman, an (approximate) equal with whom a dalliance or even marriage could be morally contemplated. On the other hand, if he were the extortionist, that would prove awkward.

He decided not to pass judgement on Sir Dean until he had at least spoken to him, and to keep their first meeting as a small secret between the two of them. Taking the opportunity of another guest approaching Charlie, he excused himself and quickly followed the messenger to the hall.

‘Ah, excuse me, ‘ello zere,’ he called out, and the valet turned to face him.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Could you please tell your master zat our earlier meeting is forgotten and zat I look forward to being properly introduced to ‘im?’

Fitzgerald looked utterly confused at this strange message. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t follow.’

‘Do not worry, ‘e will understand.’ 

‘Very good, sir.’ He bowed and continued on his return to Dean’s room, while Castiel returned to the drawing room. Dean was washing his hair when Fitzgerald returned, and he passed on the message before emptying the basin on Dean’s head to wash out the soap. ‘It was a bit odd, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.’

Dean laughed. ‘I imagine it would be. The gentleman saw me when I had just come in from the rain, and knew I would be embarrassed when meeting him again. I believe this is his way of telling me that I need not be, and that when we meet, it will be as if for the first time.’

‘Well that is mighty decent of him, sir,’ Fitzgerald proclaimed, and Dean could not help but agree.

After ensuring an impeccable appearance, Dean finally made his way to the drawing room, and was immediately accosted by Charlie. 

‘I believe you will be singing tonight, Sir Dean?’ she asked with a smug grin.

‘It appears I shall. Should I apologise in advance to all the guests?’

‘Do not be ridiculous, your singing is magnificent. I am delighted with the results of the wager.’

Dean shook his head. ‘I still cannot believe that I had not so much as a nibble. I have never had such ill luck with fishing before.’

‘That is only because you have never attempted to fish in a lake that had no fish.’ Ignoring Dean’s spluttering complaints and attempts to declare the wager void, she dragged him over to where the man Dean recognised as the earlier-met angel among men was standing alone. ‘Now come along, I must introduce you to the last guest.’

‘Lady Bradbury-’ he began, but could not complete his sentence before they had arrived. He could only hope that his blush was not too obvious in the low lighting of the drawing room.

‘Sir Dean Winchester, may I introduce Mr Castiel Novacque,’ Charlie said as the gentlemen bowed to each other. ‘Mr Novacque is a distant cousin, and was forced to leave France when Napoleon returned to power. Sir Dean is my neighbour in Bath, a good friend, and as you will discover this evening, a very fine singer,’ she added archly.

Dean smiled at the introduction despite the teasing. ‘You are too kind, my lady. I shall endeavour not to deafen Mr Novacque with my singing. How do you like England, Mr Novacque?’

‘I find it to be ze green and pleasant land your poet Monsieur Blake describes,’ Castiel replied with a smile, before turning to Charlie with surprise. ‘Oh! Zere is not a relation between ze poet and your friend Miss Blake, my lady?’

‘She assures me that there is not, or if there is, it is a very distant relation.’

‘Ah, _tant pis_. Are you fond of poetry, Sir Dean?’

Dean felt himself blush. ‘I am more a man of action than words, Mr Novacque. My brother Sam, however, must have a hundred poems committed to memory, if not more. He is a great reader.’

Charlie rolled her eyes. ‘Do not let Sir Dean deceive you. He is just as fond of books as Mr Samuel. That is how we became friends, after all.’

Dean’s cheeks were bright pink now, he was certain. ‘Lady Bradbury exaggerates-’

‘Pish posh!’ Charlie admonished, smacking his arm with her closed fan. ‘We are among friends here. I have it on good authority that Mr Novacque is just as fond of Mrs Radcliffe as we are.’ Her eyes sparkled with mirth, and Dean noticed how the Frenchman’s cheeks also had a hint of colour to them now.

‘Lady Bradbury is cruel in revealing our secrets before even giving us wine, but she is not inaccurate,’ Castiel admitted.

Dean grinned. ‘Your secret is safe with me if mine is safe with you, monsieur.’ He extended his hand and Castiel shook it. Dean took the opportunity to admire his hands- the fingers were long and shapely, and Dean had a sudden irrational desire to feel them somewhere else. ‘So… your wife- or husband… did not join you on this journey?’ he asked tentatively.

Castiel sighed. ‘ _Hélas_! I am sadly unwed. I suppose no one wishes to marry an impoverished émigré with nozzing to offer but ‘is ‘eart.’

‘Oh, I do apologise.’ Dean hoped he had hidden his disappointment, but Castiel’s frown told him he’d failed. ‘I understand that difficulty well.’

‘It is ze fate of so many gentlemen zese days, _non_? Our forefazzers were not zinking of our domestic felicity when zey went to war or wasted zeir fortunes.’

‘Or just our fathers,’ Dean replied bitterly before remembering himself. ‘Still, there are many who have it worse, I suppose. At least we are still here, able to enjoy Lady Bradbury’s wonderful hospitality and delightful grounds.’

‘Indeed,’ Castiel agreed, raising his glass to their hostess. ‘Zough I ‘ave not yet enjoyed ze grounds myself. Are zere many good places for the pursuits _sportives_? Swimming, per’aps?’ Castiel hid his smile in a sip from his glass, and watched as Dean blushed bright red. It was a becoming shade on him.

Charlie gave them both a bemused look, but neither of them confessed their earlier meeting. ‘It is too early for most of the hunting, but there are plenty of rabbits that I am sure my gardeners would be happy for you to shoot. The archery butts are always available, and of course my stables are at your disposal. I can also recommend a number of very pleasant walks, and there shall be a ball in three weeks, if you consider dancing a sport.’ She paused and looked out at the rest of the guests. ‘The two of you are by far the most athletic members of the party, I am afraid you may find yourselves often thrown together in such pastimes.’

‘Oh, well, that is, I- I am sure that this would be very pleasurable- I mean, pleasant, very pleasant,’ Dean stammered, blushing even more deeply. ‘I would be delighted to partake in athletic pursuits with you.’ Charlie had to bring her fan to her face to hide her grin and Castiel’s eyebrow rose just a touch. ‘ARCHERY!’ Dean said a bit too loudly, drawing odd looks from the ladies on the nearby settee. ‘I mean archery and… and such.’

‘Per’aps we can try tomorrow,’ Castiel replied, clearly taking pity on Dean by not mocking his foolishness. ‘I warn you, I am an excellent shot.’

‘We shall see tomorrow then,’ Dean agreed with a relieved smile. 

‘I am certain you will both take great pains to outshoot each other,’ Charlie smirked, ‘but this evening, I believe you owe _me_ a performance, Sir Dean.’ The young baronet grimaced, but bowed his agreement and followed Charlie to the pianoforte. Castiel watched them walk away, admiring how Dean’s breeches moulded to his charming bowlegs. Charlie sat at the pianoforte with Dean standing slightly behind her, and she began to play a tune that had the other guests chuckling and hooting (in Gabriel’s case); he did not recognise it himself, but when she and Dean began to sing, it was obvious that the song was rather on the bawdy side. Dean’s voice was a pleasant tenor dipping towards baritone, and he looked almost as handsome as he had dripping wet in only his nearly transparent shirt. He was, indeed, an extremely attractive, charming man who stirred something in Castiel that he had not felt in some time.

A shame, then, that he was almost certainly the extortionist.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel awoke the next morning with a pressing need to take himself in hand following a night of dreams featuring a damp and half-naked Sir Dean Winchester singing bawdy songs in Castiel’s ear. After refreshing himself and calling his valet to help him dress, he began to formulate a plan to catch the man out in his suspected villainy. The easiest way would be to spend as much time as possible with him and gain his trust. Perhaps if he sensed that Castiel was also in financial straits, he would confide in him, or at least let slip accidentally when in his cups.

There were, of course, no other motives for attaching himself to Dean this way- at least, none he would admit to anyone else. If the task were made slightly easier by how deuced handsome Dean was, that was simply a pleasant coincidence.

Breakfast provided a ready opportunity to put his plan into action, as Dean was already at the sideboard piling eggs, toast, and bacon in substantial quantities onto his plate. He seemed to be humming to himself, and had a private smile on his face as he helped himself to coffee.

‘I see zat you are ‘ungry zis morning, Sir Dean,’ Castiel said, and Dean was so startled he nearly knocked over his coffee cup.

‘Confound it!’ Dean exclaimed, wiping away the small spill with a napkin. ‘Mr Novacque, I did not hear you approach. Perhaps we should provide you with a bell.’

Castiel grinned. ‘My apologies. I ‘ave been told zat I am like a cat sometimes. I did not mean to startle you.’

‘I suppose you can be forgiven,’ Dean teased, ‘but only if you join me for breakfast. We seem to be the only ones who have bothered to leave our beds this morning.’

‘Lady Bradbury- my _cousine_ \- is not fond of mornings. In ze country, I would not expect to see ‘er before eleven.’

‘Indeed, she has previously warned us not to call upon her in Bath until the afternoon, upon pain of death,’ Dean chuckled. ‘Sam, on the other hand, is an early riser, so I expect he has been out for a walk or a ride since seven or even earlier.’

‘I cannot say I approve of such eagerness eizer,’ Castiel replied as he served himself a more manageable plate and a cup of tea. ‘Zough I am not a man of means, I would pay good money to avoid such a waking time. You and I seem to have found ze perfect compromise, _non_?’

‘Y-yes, I agree. Perfect.’ He stumbled slightly on his way to the table, and ducked his head in embarrassment as he took his seat. Castiel’s suspicions were raised again; the man seemed discomfited at Castiel’s mention of paying money to avoid something. His stratagem was already yielding results.

‘Are you still interested in archery today?’ he asked casually. ‘I would be delighted to ‘ave your company.

‘I would love to join you,’ Dean said eagerly. ‘I am not a great archer, though. You will have to give me some advice.’

‘I would be ‘appy to ‘elp you improve your form.’ 

They exchanged a smile and finished their breakfast with occasional small talk, and by the time they were ready to go out, Charlie had appeared. She instructed a footman to provide them with bows and arrows and show them to the butts, managing to restrain herself from smiling too slyly until they had left. They were already getting along well, and were now off to partake in the sport most suited to flirtation. Her stratagem was already yielding results.

Once the gentlemen had handed their coats to the footman, they chose their bows and took practice shots. Dean had not been lying about his skill; his first shot missed the target entirely, and the second only just landed at the top of the butt. Castiel, on the other hand, was a true proficient, and despite the unfamiliar bow, hit two very respectable shots just right of centre.

‘Oh dear, I had not thought to humiliate myself quite so badly,’ Dean said jovially. ‘In my defence, it is not a skill in great demand on a ship.’

‘It is a simple correction,’ Castiel assured him. ‘You draw well, but you are aiming too ‘igh. May I?’ Dean nodded, but rather than just adjust the bow, Castiel stood behind Dean and wrapped his arms around him to adjust his position. ‘Zere. Try zat,’ he said against Dean’s ear. Dean could not help shivering at the sensation, but when he loosed his arrow, it landed only a few inches from the centre, a vast improvement.

‘Thank you, that was much better.’ When Castiel began to pull away, Dean quickly added, ‘Perhaps you can show me once more, just to be sure I have it?’

‘Of course.’ Castiel again pressed closely against Dean’s back, guiding his arms and shoulders to the correct angle. ‘Very good. Release.’ The arrow flew, and hit the target right in the centre. The footman applauded, and the sudden reminder that they were not alone had Castiel jumping back. ‘Excellent. You are a natural, Sir Dean.’

‘Your tuition is very effective, Mr Novacque,’ Dean replied with a blush. ‘You might make an archer of me after all.’

Half an hour later, Charlie joined them with Miss Harvelle, and the ladies put them both to shame with their skill. Miss Harvelle proposed knife throwing as an alternative, waxing lyrical about the knife collection left to her by her late father, William Harvelle, Lord Lanley. Dean and Castiel were particularly intrigued by this, but said collection had unfortunately been left at home. 

‘Perhaps we shall have the next party at Lanley, and I can show you all the other delights Hertfordshire has to offer,’ Miss Harvelle said, her eyes and demure smile squarely on Charlie.

‘That would be most delightful,’ Charlie agreed eagerly. ‘Let us take a turn in the orangery, and you can tell me all about them.’ She linked arms with Miss Harvelle and bade the gentlemen enjoy their sport, a clear instruction that they were not to follow.

Dean chuckled. ‘I see that Lady Bradbury has decided to forego any subtlety in her pursuit of Miss Harvelle. She has had hearts in her eyes from the moment they met in Bath two months ago.’

‘You ‘ave spent much time wiz my _cousine_?’ Castiel asked casually.

‘Oh yes, she is our greatest friend in Bath. When we took the house beside hers, she was the first in the neighbourhood to call upon us. She caught me with a copy of _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ in my hand, and declared that we would be the best of friends for the rest of our lives. She has been very kind to us in what has been a difficult time. Our father died nearly eight months ago now, after a long illness,’ Dean explained.

‘Ah, I am so sorry to ‘ear zis. I lost my own fazzer many years ago, but it is a pain zat never leaves one.’

‘Indeed. But he is at peace and, I have no doubt, reunited with my mother.’ 

‘I am sure of it,’ Castiel replied, squeezing Dean’s hand to comfort him. ‘My mozzer was very eager to follow ze du… dear ‘usband into ze kingdom of God.’ Castiel cursed himself internally at his slip, but Dean did not seem to notice that he had nearly said duke.

‘I am so sorry,’ Dean said earnestly. ‘It is a hard thing, is it not? Being an orphan.’

‘Indeed.’

‘It must be particularly difficult for you, as you cannot even pay your respects at their graves, exiled as you are from your homeland.’

‘Oh, yes, zis is difficult. But now Napoleon is abdicated again, per’aps I shall be able to return soon. I do not ‘ave an ‘ome to return to, but I can at least lay a flower on my mozzer’s grave once more.’

‘Was your home lost when you fled?’ Dean asked thoughtlessly, then hurried to apologise. ‘Forgive me, my tongue runs away from my brain sometimes. I do not mean to pry.’

‘I understand your curiosity. Our lands were confiscated by Napoleon many years ago and given to one of ‘is, ‘ow you say, cronies. I tried to restore my rights in ze courts, but when Napoleon returned from Elba I left France instead of continuing to pursue it. I suspect it is a lost cause.’

Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. ‘I am so sorry, Mr Novacque. I pray that you will recover what is owed to you.’

When hunger got the better of them, they reclaimed their coats from the footman in exchange for the archery equipment and returned to the house in hopes of an early afternoon tea. Charlie’s table did not disappoint, with a selection of cakes and sandwiches laid out in the drawing room and the other guests already partaking.

‘Well, well, if it is not Robin Hood and… whoever the French equivalent of Robin Hood would be,’ Lord Gabriel announced as they walked in. ‘I trust all your arrows hit their targets and whatnot.’

‘It was an enjoyable way to spend a few hours,’ Dean replied circumspectly. ‘Have you kept yourself suitably entertained, Lord Gabriel?’

‘Oh yes, just dandy. Lady Lanley, Mr Crowley, Miss Blake and I went for a ride around the grounds after breakfast. We met the younger Mr Winchester along the way and he joined us for the ride back to the house. All very companionable.’ Charlie entered just then with Miss Harvelle, and Lord Gabriel called out to her. ‘Lady Bradbury, this party is far too respectable. Will you be providing more dramatic amusements for us at some point?’

‘Are you asking Lady Bradbury to manufacture a scandal?’ Lady Lanley asked with a teasing glint in her eye. Charlie spluttered the tea she had just sipped, and Miss Harvelle patted her back gently.

‘That should not be necessary,’ Lord Gabriel assured her. ‘We are a house full of members of the peerage and upper classes, it can’t be long before at least one of us does something foolish.’

‘If we are laying bets, I should like to put a few bob on it being you, sir,’ Crowley said before taking a delicate sip of his tea. The party laughed, Lord Gabriel loudest of all.

‘It would be a daft gambler who would take that bet. I am too frequently the most disreputable person in any room.’

‘You seem over proud of this, Lord Gabriel,’ Sam joined in. ‘Should you not be trying to convince us that you are respectable?’

Charlie snorted. ‘That would be some feat. We have all met him.’

There was more general laughter, but as the conversation grew more outrageous, Dean and Castiel found themselves retreating further away from the merriment.

‘I confess,’ Castiel murmured to Dean, ‘zat Lord Gabriel’s manners are a bit wild for my taste.’

‘I suppose he is harmless enough.’

‘Oh, do not misunderstand me, I like ‘im well enough, but I suspect ‘e is best appreciated in ze small doses.’

Dean hid his grin behind his cup. ‘In that I believe we are agreed.’

‘I am also ‘opeful zat zere will be no scandals during zis party. I ‘ave ‘ad enough of dramatics in my life.’

‘Indeed. Far too many lovers of gossip seem to forget that there is often at least one person truly suffering as part of every tale they share to amuse themselves. I prefer to stay out of such things.’

Castiel was taken aback by this sympathetic perspective, but realised that dislike of gossip did not necessarily preclude extortion, and he well knew that all principles could be left behind when money entered the equation. 

‘You ‘ave a kinder ‘eart zan many of ze Ton, zen.’

Dean made a face. ‘I do not consider myself to be a part of all that. I have a duty as a landowner, but no interest in playing the games of society. If I did not need to marry, I would be quite happy never setting foot in London again. Even that I hope I will be able to accomplish without going to that accursed city.’

Castiel chuckled. ‘Is it really so bad?’

‘I am a simple man. The frippery of the Ton is not for me.’

‘Zen you and I are alike in zat way as well. Were it not for my need to make new connections in my adopted country, I may not even ‘ave accepted Lady Bradbury’s invitation.’

‘Well, I am very glad you are here. It is nice to have someone to talk to.’ Dean hid his blush by taking a large bite of a scone covered in clotted cream and jam that caused his cheeks to puff like a squirrel.

Castiel smiled at the oddly endearing sight. ‘Indeed. I shall attend all of ‘er parties in future if ze company will always be so amiable.’ 

**********

A run of pleasant summer weather meant many opportunities for enjoying the outdoors over the next fortnight, and Dean often found himself in the company of Castiel for riding, shooting, and walking. At times they were joined by other members of the party, most often Lady Bradbury herself, and she was usually accompanied by Miss Harvelle. That young lady also developed a good rapport with Dean, but it was of a more lighthearted nature, even when veering towards flirtation, than what characterised either her interaction with Charlie or Dean’s with Castiel. Indeed, Dean felt rather acutely how different his friendship with Castiel was developing compared to those with the other guests, but he, at first, managed to convince himself that it was a harmless summer flirtation, a trifle that would pass when they went their separate ways in a few weeks’ time.

However, as time passed and their conversations grew longer and more comprehensive, that conviction began to fade. Castiel was interesting and refreshingly frank; despite having lost everything to Napoleon, he still admired many of the man’s reforms. He was as knowledgeable about British politics as any Englishman, and expressed great sympathy with those the establishment painted as radicals. His arguments were so logical and passionate that Dean would have subscribed to the Whigs on the spot should a member have happened to pass by that moment. Though it was not unusual for men to talk politics together, Castiel was significantly more reticent when in company with the other gentlemen, compared to the openness he shared with Dean. 

Their closeness did not escape Charlie’s keen eye; one evening, when Castiel had taken his turn to entertain the party singing a French ballad to Miss Blake’s pianoforte accompaniment, Charlie had leaned over to Dean and, with her usual boldness, asked how he was enjoying the view. His blush answered for him, and from that point, she seemed to encourage them at every opportunity.

One particularly bright and sunny morning, she appeared at an outrageously early hour by her standards, startling them both, as they had grown accustomed to breakfasting with just each other for company. All was explained when Miss Harvelle appeared shortly thereafter.

‘We are going to play a game of battledore and shuttlecock before it grows too hot. Would you care to join us?’

‘Ah, _le jeu de volant_. I enjoy zis game. If you ‘ave enough battledores, I should like to play.’

‘Sounds delightful,’ Dean agreed.

‘Shall we make it interesting with a small wager?’ Charlie asked, eyes sparkling, and Dean recoiled.

‘I have learnt my lesson about wagering with you, Lady Bradbury. I am happy to play entirely for the diversion of it.’

Once their breakfasts were completed, they wandered out onto the lawn together, where a footman had the battledores and shuttlecock ready for them. The game began as a carefree amusement, Charlie and Castiel on one side and Dean and Miss Harvelle on the other, but with two combatants as intense as Castiel and Miss Harvelle, it quickly turned rather spirited. Dean and Charlie surrendered when they grew breathless trying to keep up, and the game only ended after a shot from Miss Harvelle went a bit too far left.

‘One thousand, two hundred and seventy-three strikes!’ Miss Harvelle announced gleefully. ‘You are a prodigy, Mr Novacque!’ He bowed in thanks, and the four of them retired to the garden chairs the servants had set out, surrounding a table with refreshments to help them recover from their exertions.

‘Are there any sports at which you do not excel?’ Dean asked Castiel. ‘Thus far I have seen you at archery, riding, shooting, and bowls, and you are a proficient at all of them!’

‘I am not so keen on ze pugilism, and I am very bad indeed at ze billiards.’

‘A face such as yours should not be risked on pugilism,’ Charlie stated. ‘Do you not agree, Sir Dean?’ 

Dean nodded. ‘Wholeheartedly. I cannot say I am overfond of the sport myself.’

Castiel looked horrified at the thought of Dean boxing. ‘ _Mon dieu_ , ze very notion of your beauty being marred by some ruffian’s fists- it does not bear zinking about!’

‘Yes, well,’ Dean shifted uncomfortably at the sly smiles from the ladies following Castiel’s outburst. ‘Billiards is my game of choice. Perhaps I could repay your assistance in archery with a lesson.’

‘I should like zat very much, zank you.’ The two men smiled at each other, their stare only interrupted by Charlie’s discreet cough.

‘I shall ask the housekeeper to ensure that everything is in order in the billiards room. For now, though, I am growing too hot in this sun. Miss Harvelle, shall we go inside?’

‘Yes indeed, with your fair skin you must be careful not to burn. Gentlemen.’ She nodded at them and took Charlie’s arm to lead her back to the house.

‘I do not wish to leave zis glorious wezzer just yet. Would you take a turn wiz me, Sir Dean?’ He offered his arm, and Dean took it shyly.

‘Of course.’

They crossed the lawn to the path that circled around manicured grounds and towards the woodland. As they passed the lake, a delicate pink hue appeared on Dean’s cheeks as he recalled the humiliating circumstances of his first meeting with Castiel. The same image must have come to Castiel’s mind, for he smirked despite a clear effort to keep his face neutral.

‘I must ask,’ he finally said, ‘just ‘ow it is zat you came to be so damp when we first saw each ozzer.’

‘My own foolishness, really. You would think a captain of His Majesty’s navy, even a retired one, would be able to catch a fish in a lake, but this becomes a more difficult endeavour when there are not, in fact, any fish in the damned lake. In my stubbornness, I failed to notice both this fact and that the weather was changing around me faster than I expected. I was caught in a downpour and returned in the state which you saw.’

Castiel’s eyebrows rose high in his forehead, but his concern was not for the tale of fishing woe. ‘You were a captain? You seem full young to ‘ave attained such a position, never mind to ‘ave retired from it.’

Dean could feel himself blushing under Castiel’s piercing gaze. Why did the man have to be so damned handsome? Or rather, if he were to be so handsome, why could he not be at least a little rich? He again cursed the circumstances that forced him into putting fortune before feeling. 

‘I was unfortunate in my naval career,’ he said simply, causing Castiel to raise an eyebrow.

‘I would ‘ave zought zat a man who made captain at your age would be considered very fortunate in his career.’

Dean grimaced. ‘There were... complications. The prize that should have made me was deemed invalid by the prize courts. Before I could take another, I was wounded and removed from my command against my will. It is a long story, but my career ended when we made landfall. I was able to resign honourably, as my father was in the final throes of his illness and I would inherit the title of baronet, but in reality I was discarded by the admiralty.’

Castiel gave him a pained expression. ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to pry. I did not realise it would be such a distressing memory.’

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. ‘I… I do not mind telling you. We have not known each other long, but I feel…’ His blush deepened, and his eyes dropped to the ground. ‘I feel an affinity with you that I have not felt with anyone before. It makes me want to tell you all my secrets.’ He looked up at Castiel from underneath his eyelashes, noting the pink tinge of his cheeks as well. Knowing that he was not the only one affected gave him a bit of his natural cockiness back. ‘I hope you are not a warlock who has placed a truth spell upon me,’ he added with a small grin.

‘If I ‘ave, I shall be ze last person to confess it,’ Castiel replied with a hint of his own smile.

‘Whatever the reason… well, it actually begins long before my birth. My mother, Miss Mary Campbell, was the belle of her first London season, and she caught the eye of many gentlemen. Though it was my father who eventually won her, she first refused a proposal from a Mr Azazel, who now sits on the Prize Court and never forgot the slight. The name Winchester is a bane to him, and so his has become a bane to me.’ He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the painful words to follow. ‘My mother died in childbed with Samuel, when I was but four years old. My father was never the same, and by the time I was ten, the baronetcy was in a bad way. Rather than wait for me to inherit a ruin, my father’s friend Mr Singer suggested I be sent to the navy in the hope of repairing some of our fortune.’

‘Zis is… unusual, yes? For ze heir to take a career?’

‘Indeed, but I was more of a constitution for it than my brother. I longed for adventure, while he longed for books, and though you would not guess it from his monstrous frame now, young Sammy was a small and sometimes fragile thing in his childhood. I yearned for the freedom I could gain as a midshipman, and so on my eleventh birthday I found myself on a frigate.’

‘So young to face such ‘ardship,’ Castiel tutted.

‘It was hard, but I must admit, I loved it. I loved the sea, and still do. At twenty-four I had my first command, a sloop that was perhaps better suited to the scrapyard than battle, but fast as anything when she was in full sail. Caught a stunning prize and thought I had it made. Mr Azazel made it his business to deprive me of it, ensuring that the Prize Court declared it invalid, and suggested that the head injury I sustained in battle had made me incapable. No witnesses were allowed to argue my case, and as I said, I resigned and returned to Winchester. We retrenched, let the estate and removed to Bath, as we were able to convince my father that there he might be important at comparatively little expense, and that the waters would do him good.’ Dean smiled ruefully. ‘They did not, and he died at the turn of the year.’

‘I am so sorry to ‘ear about your troubles,’ Castiel empathised. ‘You have faced much sorrow for one so young.’

‘You speak as if you are a great deal older than myself,’ Dean teased. ‘You cannot yet be thirty, if that.’

‘I am eight and twenty, but at times I feel much older.’

Dean looked stricken. ‘Of course. To have been driven from your homeland, deprived of your rights… I apologise, it was thoughtless of me.’

‘ _Non_ , you are civility itself, Sir Dean, I assure you. Zis is a weight I put on my soul myself.’

‘Come, you have heard nearly all my secrets, Novacque,’ Dean replied, hoping Castiel would respond well to the more familiar appellation. ‘You need not understate your feelings _._ ’ 

‘Only _nearly_ all, sir?’ Castiel replied saucily, raising one imperious eyebrow and unknowingly sending Dean’s heart into a flutter. ‘I must work ‘arder on my truth spells.’

‘A man must keep _some_ mysteries if he is to remain interesting.’

‘I ‘ave no doubt that you would be interesting even if- or perhaps especially if- bared to your very soul,’ Castiel assured him with a voice so deep it set Dean’s stomach joining his heart in the fluttering. ‘I certainly ‘ave not experienced a dull moment wiz you yet.’

‘You are too kind, Novacque,’ Dean replied in what he hoped was not too strangled a voice, even as the pink rose to his cheeks again. ‘I hope you shall always find me interesting.’

‘You wish to maintain our... acquaintance after zis party?’ Castiel asked tentatively.

‘Fervently,’ Dean confirmed. ‘I should very much like to continue our… friendship, even if you return to France once the political situation is more settled. I have never been to your country in peacetime, but what I saw of its coastlines made me wish to see it. Perhaps someday we could travel there together.’ Castiel’s eyes widened, making Dean realise how presumptuous he sounded, and bringing him crashing back to earth from the heavenly fantasy he had briefly allowed himself. ‘As friends,’ he added frantically. ‘I have not had the opportunity, but I understand that gentlemen sometimes travel with their friends, do they not?’

‘I… yes, I suppose so. Zat would be… pleasant. I zink I should like zat very much, Dean.’ Castiel paled when he realised what he had said, but Dean could only rejoice.

‘Then we shall make a pact, Castiel,’ Dean reciprocated, pleased to see the colour return to Castiel’s cheeks and the corner of his mouth tick up. ‘Someday we shall see your homeland together.’ He extended his hand, and Castiel shook it firmly. They both let the touch linger a bit longer than strictly necessary, and Dean wondered if his heart would ever resume its normal rhythm while Castiel was nearby.


	4. Chapter 4

The pleasant weather was too good to last- this was England, after all- and a misty greyness drove the occupants of Bradbury to indoor amusements over the following days. Ever the gracious hostess, however, Lady Bradbury seemed to have amusements planned for just such occasions.

'Today', Charlie proclaimed one afternoon, catching everyone's attention, 'we shall have play-acting to amuse ourselves.' While the other guests looked intrigued, Castiel shot Charlie an alarmed glance, which, however, Lady Bradbury pretended to be much too concentrated on her machinations to notice. 'I have prepared a number of scenes from the Bard himself, and adapted them in length and cast a little to suit our needs. Everyone will draw a sheet of paper and be thus assigned their scene.’

Charlie went to one of the side boards and picked up a tablet that held a number of neatly tied rolls of paper. Charlie walked around the room, handing out rolls seemingly at random. Soon everyone was looking for their partner in their assigned scene. When it turned out that, miraculously, Sam and Miss Blake, Charlie and Miss Harvelle, and Castiel and Dean had somehow had the incredible fortune to be assigned scenes together, Castiel had no doubt whatsoever that Charlie had somehow managed to rig the game. Especially given that _somehow_ Castiel and Dean had ended up with a scene between Rosalinde and Orsino from _As You Like It_ , in which Rosalind was pretending to be the boy Caesario, who was pretending to be Rosalind for Orsino to practice wooing Rosalind. Castiel was under no illusions that Charlie had not picked that scene intentionally, given Castiel’s current situation with Dean. Equally, purportedly by sheer chance, Sam and Miss Blake were now sitting in a corner of the room, blushing like rosebuds in June, and making their way through the scene where Romeo first meets Juliet. 

The groups had the remainder of the afternoon to prepare, and after dinner the chairs of the parlour were arranged to mimic an audience at the theatre, with an empty space in front serving as the stage. To keep in the spirit of the game, the order of the scenes was decided by Charlie pulling scraps of paper with the names of the scenes from a bowl.

Miss Blake and Sam were the first to step up to the stage and their audience greeted them with much applause. They each donned a domino mask that looked as if they had quickly crafted it themselves from old napkins. Charlie announced the scene, gave a short introduction to where in the play that scene took place, and then pronounced the curtains up. Miss Blake took her place at one end of the stage and Sam on the other. 

Walking slowly towards her, Sam proclaimed: 

'If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender k-kiss.’

Dean rolled his eyes when Sam almost tripped over the last word. Sam’s blush was visible even under the domino mask and his ears were bright red.

Miss Blake continued, no less affected:

'Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.'

'Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?' Sam asked.

'Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer,' Miss Blake pointed out rather cheekily.

'O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.’

'Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.’

'Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.’

Sam moved in front of Miss Blake and pretended to kiss her. At least, that was what Dean was fervently hoping he did; theatre or not, he had no wish to stand as Sam’s second should he be called out for blemishing Miss Blake’s virtue. Lady Lanley seemed more amused than outraged though, so Dean supposed Sam was not yet in danger of being shot.

'Then have my lips the sin that they have took,' Miss Blake continued once Sam had moved away again.

'Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!

Give me my sin again.’

When Sam moved in for a second - hopefully feigned- kiss, Dean caught Castiel heaving a deep sigh next to him. 

'Do you not enjoy the romance, Mr Novacque? I was under the impression that the French appreciated such things.'

Castiel made a face. 'Oh, zey do, ze French, we do appreciate romance, but personally I 'ave to confess a rather pronounced dislike of zis play. But I understand zat my opinion is per’aps not ze most popular one, given zat zis play is considered ze 'eight of romantic love.' He gave Dean a cautious look. To his surprise, Dean seemed to be delighted.

'My thoughts exactly!' Dean exclaimed. 'They are only thirteen years old in the play, and their plan is completely senseless, strategically speaking, let alone that they are being over-dramatic.' He grinned conspiratorially. 'It probably does not reflect well on me, but I have to own that my brother loves the play and I swear that he has dreamed of acting out this scene with his lady love ever since he first read it. I wonder if Lady Bradbury did not have a hand in, shall we say, helping things along, and just because I could not say how she did it, I am not abandoning the notion. I wonder if she picked the scene with Sam and Miss Blake in mind; I would not put it past her.’ 

Castiel made a noise that he hoped expressed agreement. Hopefully Dean would not ask why Charlie might have taken it upon herself in setting up Castiel and Dean with a scene from a play in which a character was pretending to be someone else. 

Next up were Gabriel and Crowley, who gave a surprisingly inspired rendition of Oberon and Puck from _A Midsummer Night’s Dream._ Gabriel inhabited the mischievous sprite with such aplomb that everyone was slightly concerned about finding themselves on the receiving end of a similar prank. 

When it was Dean’s and Castiel’s turn, they placed two chairs on the stage and took their positions slightly opposite each other. They had decided who would play which character by playing a silly game Dean had suggested- learned from a sailor who had claimed to pick it up in China- which involved making a fist, counting to three and picking one of three positions, where each one beat one and was beaten by one of the other two. To his enormous surprise, Dean had actually won and had picked Rosalind. They had briefly considered whether they would need any costumes, and Castiel had blushed profusely at the thought of Dean in a dress. However, given that Rosalind was, at that point of the play, pretending to be a boy - albeit one who was pretending to be a girl - they had decided that there would not be any dresses in that scene anyway. 

'Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent,' Dean began and sat down on one of the chairs, waving Castiel towards him. 'What would you say to me now, if I were your very, very Rosalind?'

'I would kiss before I spoke,' Castiel answered. _Ten years as a spy in France,_ he thought, _acting all sorts of parts to stay alive and fulfil my missions, and one line about kissing Dean in England and I might as well be one of Charlie’s prized red roses_.

'Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss,' Dean continued. 'Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking—God warn us!— matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.'

' 'ow if ze kiss be denied?' Castiel inquired, starting to feel rather invested as to how Dean himself would answer this question.

Dean waved his concerns away. 'Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.'

'Who could be out, being before 'is beloved mistress?'

'Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.'

'What, of my suit?' Castiel raised a challenging eyebrow.

'Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit,' Dean said with a decidedly lecherous grin on his face, very obviously letting his eyes run over Castiel’s form. Their audience laughed. Castiel shivered. Having to be afraid of too tight trousers in front of an audience was decidedly not funny. 'Am not I your Rosalind?'

'I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of 'er.'

'Well in her person I say I will not have you,' Dean quipped, all but sticking his tongue out at Castiel.

'Zen in mine own person I die,' Castiel proclaimed, throwing his hand over his heart dramatically.

'No, faith, die by attorney. Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.'

'I would not ‘ave my right Rosalind of zis mind, for, I protest, ‘er frown might kill me,' Castiel said, feeling the line ring uncomfortably true in regard to Dean.

'By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it.' 

Dean leaned back in his chair in obvious invitation. His smirk could not be called anything but saucy, and Castiel found himself internally cursing Charlie in every language he knew. The idea of Dean granting anything in any coming-on disposition had Castiel sweating profusely and angling himself a little more away from the audience. He would swear he could hear Charlie snickering. After what was probably a break that was slightly too long - Sam was acting as their prompter and had started mouthing Castiel’s next words- Castiel cleared his throat and went on.

'Zen love me, Rosalind,' he begged. 

'Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all,' Dean replied airily. His deep red blush and the slight crack in his voice was probably just masterful acting, Castiel decided. 

'And wilt zou 'ave me?' Castiel asked. 

'Ay, and twenty such,’ Dean replied. 

Castiel’s shoulders sagged with relief, which was of course entirely acted. Entirely, he told himself. 'What sayest zou?' he continued the scene.

'Are you not good?' 

'I 'ope so,' Castiel said. In that moment his subterfuge lay heavier on his heart than he would ever have expected on a mission. 

'Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?' Dean asked. 

Their scene ended just before the practice wedding, and Castiel felt irrationally glad of that. The evening as a whole ended with Charlie herself wooing Miss Harvelle as Olivia from _The Twelfth Night_ ; Miss Harvelle seemed to enjoy the declarations of love a great deal in her role and returned the sentiments with equal enthusiasm. Castiel wryly thought that the sentiments would most likely be returned outside of the scene as well, and fell asleep wondering whether the same would be true of Dean.

Dean in his turn was kept awake by ruminating on the last question he had asked Castiel in the scene. Could one desire too much of a good thing? Spending time with Castiel was a good thing, but was it good for Dean to do so given his circumstances? Castiel was not an eligible match for him, not if he wanted to ensure that Sam would be able to marry for love. If anyone would have to marry for duty and money, it would be Dean - he was the heir, he held the title, and it therefore fell to him to repair the estate to at least enough of its former glory to allow at least Sam better chances at a love match. Dean was aware of what he could and could notoffer, and also of what he needed in return. Desiring Castiel truly was desiring too much of a good thing, and it would only break his heart. 

**********

It did not seem to matter how much Dean tried to convince himself that his feelings for Castiel needed to be stifled, or that he should seek out other company to fill his days at Bradbury. All good intentions fled the moment he saw Castiel in the breakfast room.

‘Good morning, Dean. I ‘ope zat you slept well.’

‘I thank you, yes. And you?’

‘Very well, I zank you. I was zinking of going for a ride zis morning, and zen a walk in ze woodland zis afternoon. I believe we ‘ave several days of rain to come, so I should like to take advantage of ze dry wezzer while we ‘ave it. Will you join me?’

‘Of course. You know I am fond of a good ride.’ Dean quickly turned his back to hide his cringe at the unintentional innuendo; he heard Castiel choke on his coffee, but fortunately no further comment was made. They enjoyed their breakfasts in their usual amiable way before going for their morning ride, and after lunch, they departed again for their walk.

Dean found himself in a contemplative mood as they wandered along the woodland path. ‘I sometimes feel that you are still a mystery to me, Castiel.’

‘Truly? ‘Ow so?’

‘I cannot fix upon any particular reason,’ Dean confessed. ‘I suppose it is just a feeling that there is more to you than meets the eye.’

‘I simply did not want you to grow tired of me. Did you not say zat a man must ‘ave some mystery to remain interesting?’ His teasing tone made Dean smile.

‘I cannot imagine a circumstance where you became anything less than fascinating to me. I could learn everything about you and that would not change.’

Castiel’s face softened into a fond smile. ‘Very well. What do you wish to know?’

‘Tell me something about yourself, something not another soul knows,’ Dean asked.

Castiel considered this request, then grinned at Dean. ‘Well, when I was a young boy, I ‘ad two little _cochons d’Inde_ … guinea pigs, you call zem. Zey were my beloved pets, and I carried zem in ze pockets of my coat. One day I went to ze kitchen to beg for sweets, and ze beasts escaped from my pockets and attacked a large sack of flour zat was sitting open for Cook to make a pie. Ze flour was ruined and my ears were boxed so ‘ard I zought zey would fall off.’

Dean threw his head back in a loud laugh. ‘I can imagine it perfectly, a miniature Castiel, very seriously carrying his little friends around with him. You must have been adorable.’

‘My mozzer told me zat my big blue eyes did make me _très mignon_ , yes,’ Castiel smirked. ‘But it did not save me from ze ear boxing.’

‘They are still your handsomest feature in a crowded field,’ Dean said with the usual sweet blush on his cheeks whenever he said something flirtatious. ‘I was immediately struck by them when I first saw you.’

‘You also ‘ave very fine eyes, but I must admit zat I did not notice zem until ze second time I saw you.’ He bumped his shoulder against Dean’s teasingly, and Dean hid his face in his hands in embarrassment. ‘Do not be ashamed at ze memory of our first encounter, Dean. It is a very… pleasing memory for me.’ He shot Dean an awkward wink that required half of his face to accomplish, and Dean couldn’t help but find that adorable as well.

‘Is that a flirtation, Cas?’ Dean teased back. On Dean’s part, the new nickname for Castiel was absolutely a flirtation.

Castiel did not object to the appellation, only smiled mysteriously at Dean’s question, and then his attention was taken by another creature. ‘Look! A honeybee!’ He jumped to his feet and followed the bee to the flowers it had chosen to work on. ‘Zey are fascinating creatures. I ‘ave… I mean, I ‘ad an apiary at my ‘ome, and we ate our own ‘oney on bread for breakfast. Did you know…’ Castiel rattled on various details about bees as he followed the path of the insect through the garden. Dean struggled to retain all the facts thrown at him, but he very much noticed the gleam in Castiel’s eyes, the dimples that appeared when he smiled, the way he wrinkled his nose when he laughed, and, if he were being honest, the very fine way he filled his breeches when bending over to inspect a flower. 

He was so enamoured of Castiel and his enthusiasm for bees that he did not notice the time passing, and they were both surprised when a footman came to call them in to change for dinner. 

‘It appears that we have spent nearly an entire afternoon following a bee around the garden,’ Dean said with a soft smile. ‘I had not expected it to be as engrossing a pastime as it turned out to be.’

‘You are too kind, Dean. It must ‘ave been terribly dull for you.’

‘I assure you, I am perfectly content with how I have employed my afternoon. Shall we go in?’ He offered his arm, which Castiel happily took, and they returned to the house both feeling that the last few hours had been well spent.

**********

Castiel returned to his room with his thoughts in a muddle. For over a fortnight he had been convinced that Dean was the source of the extortion- a fortune hunter seeking advantage at the expense of others. He had behaved suspiciously almost from the moment they were introduced, stuttering and flushing, unable to keep his countenance, and that was why Castiel had been his determined shadow ever since, hoping to catch him in a lie or even in the act of penning another threatening letter.

After their recent _tête-à-tête_ , however, Castiel was beginning to suspect another reason for Dean’s early suspicious behaviour: attraction. Had a young lady acted that way, he would immediately have seen it as such, but it had not occurred to him that a gentleman such as Dean could be so… well… adorable. He was a naval hero, for goodness sake, and yet he blushed so prettily when Castiel said so much as a word in his direction. 

It was not just the possible _tendresse_ that made Castiel pace the floor now, however. The other thing their conversation had made Castiel doubt was his initial assessment of Dean as a fortune-hunter. Yes, the man had admitted that he needed to marry well for the sake of his failing estate, but he was hardly the only young gentleman or lady in such a position, and at least in his case, it was through no fault of his own dissolute habits. Quite the opposite; he had worked hard in a difficult career to make amends for his father’s mistakes, and had his salvation snatched away so cruelly. Castiel remembered hearing about the prize Dean had captured, and the general surprise that it had been declared invalid. The few particulars he knew seemed to bear out Dean’s story, and in that light, he was not a fortune-hunter at all, but a young man doing his best to provide for his family and tenants.

And that was before even taking into consideration his tentative flirtations, verging on courtship rituals, with Castiel, even with what he thought he knew of Castiel’s lack of fortune. He was plainly a man of strong feeling, and for all he spoke of needing to make a prudent match, it was clear that he longed for love. It could not be denied: he had not the heart of an extortionist. Despite this setback in his investigation, Castiel could not feel too disappointed at the result. The truth was, he _liked_ Dean, far more than he should. He was handsome, of course, the most handsome man of his acquaintance if he were being completely honest; but he was also kind, and droll, an honourable man with hidden depths. He knew the value of a good horse, was as good a shot as Castiel had ever seen, and had a passion for silly Gothic novels that rivalled even Charlie’s (and his own) affinity for them.

And yes, he was man enough to admit in the privacy of his own bedchamber that he wished to discover every single freckle that he was certain was hidden under the layers of lawn and wool that covered Dean’s extremely pleasing figure.

That was a thought that made his trousers far too tight for polite company, so before changing for dinner, he allowed himself the indulgence of picturing those freckles under his tongue as he brought himself to release with his hand. If he sighed out Dean’s name at the moment of his peak, that was his own secret.

With Dean now eliminated as a suspect, Castiel decided to turn his attention to the other guests at dinner. Unfortunately, none of them seemed the sort to commit such an odious act- not even Mr Crowley. 

Miss Harvelle was clearly enamoured with Charlie, and Lady Lanley just as clearly looked kindly on the match and treated Charlie like her own daughter already. Surely, threatening to expose Charlie’s indiscretion would throw any marriage prospect into jeopardy, and Miss Harvelle made enough joking references to past flirtations on both their parts to make jealousy seem an unlikely motive.

Miss Blake was a sweet and unassuming soul who seemed to care not a jot that some might consider this party to be above her station. She was confident, charming, and had her sights set so clearly on young Samuel Winchester that she could hardly have the time or inclination to be scheming against Charlie.

Lord Gabriel could very well have been the person for whom the word frivolous was invented. He was light-hearted, always making a joke at someone’s expense, and proclaiming all the gossip he could find openly and unabashedly. He was also, Castiel had come to learn, the wealthiest man in Wales, and had no need of the relatively paltry sums demanded of Charlie in the letters she had received.

Crowley also had no need of coin, and he seemed to have mellowed from the hot-headed gossip-monger Castiel remembered from his youth. His engagement to Lady Don- or dearest Abigail, as Crowley tended to call her- had apparently tamed him, and it was unlikely that he would jeopardise such an advantageous match with a scheme of this base nature.

That left only Sam Winchester, and where once it would have made perfect sense to him, now his heart rebelled at the notion. Sam had shown himself to be a sympathetic soul, kind and clever. He was clearly besotted with Miss Blake, and Charlie seemed to be encouraging the union; indeed, her influence could make all the difference in a successful suit. An intelligent man like Sam seemed unlikely to pursue a foolish extortion plan against Charlie when he needed her favour. 

He was back to zero in his calculations, and began pacing in frustration. It occurred to him that all of his observations of the other guests were superficial; hardly surprising as he had spent the large part of his time with Dean whenever possible. He had justified it to himself as investigating his prime suspect, but he now could recognise that he had simply _wanted_ to spend that time with Dean. And who could blame him? The man was a treasure.

Knowing that he could not make any further progress puzzling out the extortionist’s identity, Castiel let his thoughts return to Dean. It did not escape his notice that an innocent Dean was a _courtable_ Dean. Though he was a younger son, Castiel did still have a substantial income of his own thanks to sound investments on a sum that had been left to him by his mother, who had been the Duke’s second wife and therefore owed nothing to Michael. It did not hold a candle to the Duke’s holdings, of course, but it was more than enough to make him an eligible match for Dean.

Castiel chuckled at the rapid evolution of his feelings. He had never thought himself a romantic, but three weeks of knowing Dean had him contemplating an offer of marriage. There was the _slight_ complication that Dean thought him to be an impoverished Frenchman, but he was certain that Dean would understand once this whole affair was concluded and explained. After all, though Castiel had lied about his name and circumstances, he had kept to the truth about himself as frequently as possible- a trick he had learnt in his spying days. More importantly, the emotions and reactions Castiel Novacque had towards Dean were genuinely those of Castiel Scott, and he was certain that Dean could comprehend the truth of that once Castiel could be fully honest about his identity.

The thought of being able to speak to Dean in his own voice lit a fire under him, making him more eager than ever to solve this mystery once and for all. He would pursue the matter with an ardour second only to that with which he would pursue Dean. First thing in the morning (well, as close to morning as could be expected on her ladyship’s part), he would ask Charlie for the extortion letters and create some excuse to observe the hand of each of the guests. It occurred to him that he should probably have done this from the beginning, but again, he realised that the distraction of Dean was to blame for his lack of logical thought. No one could blame him- this was what it meant to be in love. 

**********

'Mr Winchester?'

'Lady Bradbury!' Sam scrambled to his feet with all of the elegance and grace of a baby giraffe. 'I had not heard you come in. To the library. Your library. In your house. Where you can absolutely go at any time.'

’So I gathered', Lady Bradbury chuckled. 

Sam subtly tried to hide the sonnet he was writing about Miss Blake under a tome of treatises in Latin on Roman law he had been reading earlier. He had also used it to dissuade Dean from joining him- not so much because Dean did not enjoy reading Latin, but more because Dean preferred reading the epics, and in the original Greek. 

'I see you have pen and paper at hand, Mr Winchester, how fortunate,' Charlie remarked, but thankfully ignored what Sam had been doing with it. The gleam in her eyes told him that she had noticed, however. 'Could I trouble you to help me? It seems that I have manoeuvred myself into a bit of a corner.’

To Sam it seemed that there was an implied 'and in return I won’t mention anything I might have seen in here today to any young ladies or brothers'.

'Of course, Lady Bradbury; how might I be of assistance?'

'Well, it is a bit of a long story, but to keep it short: I might have lured Ca- er, Mr Novacque here under false pretences because I thought that he might be a wonderful match for Dean.'

‘I see,' Sam said. 'I am sorry to tell you, however, that Dean is much too conscientious, noble, and self-sacrificing to make Mr Novacque any kind of offer, given his financial situation, and if I am not much mistaken, Mr Novacque is of equal character.'

'And you would be entirely correct, were he indeed impoverished Frenchman Mr Novacque, and not rather well-off Lord James Emmanuel Stephen Castiel Scott, second son of the late Duke of Inveresk and younger brother to the current one.’

‘I… see,' Sam repeated, somewhat dumbfounded. He took a moment to digest this new information. Now that Lady Bradbury had mentioned that little titbit, Mr Novacque … Lord James not being dissuaded from spending time with Dean despite Dean having been very open about his constraints made much more sense now. Of course, Lord James would care very little, if at all, about the financial state of any paramour of his. Dean had not told Sam how he felt about Mr Novacque, but Sam was not blind. Dean had told Sam that he had talked about his situation with Mr Novacque, however, and that in and of itself was tantamount to a verbose declaration of love from anyone else. 'In that case I am sorry to tell you, however, that Dean can also be a stubborn mule and, as much as he loves his mystery novels, if he finds out about this, it will not go over well. Whatever were the two of you thinking?’

'I realise that, Mr Winchester, but you have to believe me when I say that everything has become chaotic and has grown out of proportion. When Lord James refused to attend the party, I told him that I was being blackmailed, and that did the trick - however, he came up with the hare-brained scheme of pretending to be French so people would behave more naturally around him, and he absolutely would not be dissuaded from it… and I thought it was better to have him here as Mr Castiel Novacque than not at all. I foolishly assumed that he would see reason, conclude that Sir Dean was innocent-'

'He suspected Dean of being the extortionist?!' 

'-and, subsequently, drop his disguise so he could court your brother properly.'

'I suspect that this is not what has happened,' Sam remarked, drily.

Lady Bradbury huffed. 'Indeed, it is not. Lord James, the loveable, loyal idiot has become ever more tenacious in his efforts to discover my fictional extortionist. I suspect his motivation to solve this quickly is because he wants to reveal himself to Sir Dean, but thinks he owes it to me to catch the criminal first.’

Sam pushed his hair out of his face and started pacing.

'Could you not just tell him the truth?' he asked.

Lady Bradbury pulled a face. 'I honestly cannot tell at this point if he would just disappear, huffing and puffing like an angry wolf.'

'Which would not help Dean either,' Sam grudgingly admitted. 'I do not wish to betray his confidence, but I think it has been obvious to everyone here that Dean has grown exceedingly fond of Mr Novacque … Lord James. I don’t know what would be worse, Lord James just disappearing without a word, or Dean finding out about this deceit without any explanation from him to soften the blow. Do you really think Lord James would be so unkind? He does not seem it. Do you not think that he would stay for Dean’s sake, no matter what has happened between the two of you?'

Lady Bradbury sighed. 'He does have a bit of a temper, and he can be stubborn; he would be thoroughly annoyed with me… I am certain he would come around and feel terrible about it later, and most likely try to mend their relationship, but by then Dean would already have been hurt, and I do wish to avoid that.'

Sam paused in his pacing. 'Why have you come to me for help?'

'This morning, Lord James asked me for the extortionist’s letters. Letters which obviously do not exist, and which I obviously cannot write as he knows my hand.'

'So you want me to write the letters,' Sam surmised. 'What good will continuing the ruse do?'

'If nothing else, it will give them time.' Lady Bradbury shrugged. 'Lord James will not stalk off in a huff, he will figure out that the hand-writing is not Sir Dean’s, and once he has concluded that your brother is innocent, reveal his identity and make him an offer.' 

'You gravely underestimate my brother’s stubbornness, as well as overestimate his willingness to forgive such a deceit… but I agree, at this point the best tactic would be to continue _your_ ruse so Lord James can end _his_ ruse with as few negative consequences as possible.' Sam groaned. 'I cannot believe I am agreeing to this, but fine. What do you need me to write?’

Lady Bradbury smiled at him winningly. 'Well, I told Lord James about an indiscretion, so let us begin with that.'


	5. Chapter 5

The ball Charlie had promised since the beginning of the house party had finally arrived, though in terms of grandeur it was more akin to a country assembly. The musicians were brought from Oxford, and besides the guests already at the house, the invitations stayed mainly in the neighbourhood rather than extending to any acquaintances in Bath or London. This still amounted to four and twenty families, many of whom would normally be beneath the notice of a marchioness, but Charlie was known as a generous neighbour and greeted all of them by name. A few young ladies had come out since the previous summer, and their awe at the grandeur of Bradbury, simply decorated as the ball was, came second only to their awe at the calibre of gentlemen available for dancing. Unfortunately for those ladies, two of the most handsome gentlemen only had eyes for each other.

Dean wore his smartest attire for the event and spent longer than usual on his toilette and hair style. Fitzgerald shaved him close and ensured perfectly shaped side whiskers to frame his face. He did not even bother to try fooling himself that the display was for anyone other than Castiel. Since Dean had told Castiel about his history with the navy, it seemed that the Frenchman had become even warmer towards him, their flirtations becoming more intense, their looks lingering (even) longer, the excuses to brush against each other, stand too close, put a friendly hand on a shoulder, had become increasingly flimsy and more frequent. Not a single member of the party was ever surprised to find them together, and some had even begun to speak of them as a unit- where Dean was found, Castiel was not far behind, and vice versa.

It was odd, when Dean stopped to think about it, that Castiel had become more overt after discovering Dean’s poverty, and he could not account for it. Perhaps it was a feeling of equality; before, he had only known that Dean was a baronet, and had thus sensed a gulf between them. Perhaps he had even been trying to guard his own heart, wishing to avoid Dean thinking of him as a fortune hunter. But now, knowing they were both as close to penniless as gentlemen of honour could be, he felt better able to express himself, as Dean would now know him to be disinterested when it came to financial matters.

This did not address the problem that, with both of them poor, they clearly could not marry, but Dean refused to believe that Castiel had dishonourable motives in mind. Perhaps he believed that Dean might regain his prize someday, or that he himself would regain his lands and fortunes with Napoleon gone for good. Perhaps he had even found new ambition to pursue the case because of Dean. The thought inspired a hope within Dean that he had not allowed himself to feel in a very long time. Rather than dwell on it, he gave his hair a final pat and left his bedchamber to join the others.

He was the last but one to reach the drawing room; Charlie made her entrance shortly thereafter, and he did not put it past her to have waited for a signal from her servants that everyone had gathered to ensure they all observed it. The effect was entirely for the benefit of Miss Harvelle, of course, but they were all able to admire how splendid she looked in her blue gown with white puffed sleeves, her scarlet hair done up with curls cascading in front of her ears and a tiara with a sapphire cabochon at its centre.

‘Good evening, my friends. You all look particularly handsome, and I intend to claim each and every one of you for a dance tonight. Miss Harvelle, if you would honour me with the first dance?’ Miss Harvelle curtsied her acceptance and took Charlie’s hand as they led the group to await the other guests.

‘I understand,’ Castiel whispered to Dean as they naturally found themselves in step with each other, ‘zat Lady Bradbury has requested ze waltz to be played.’

‘I can only assume that she intends to bestow particular attention on Miss Harvelle tonight, then. I cannot imagine her dancing it with anyone else.’

‘Indeed. And I cannot imagine dancing it wiz anyone but you, if you were amenable?’

‘Y-yes, very much so. I would be delighted.’ 

‘Zank you. ‘Ave you ever learnt it?’

‘I have not danced it myself, but I have observed it. You?’

‘I am sure you know zat it ‘as long been fashionable in France, so I am well versed in ze art form. It is very simple, I am certain you will learn it quickly.’

Dean blushed at the compliment and changed the subject. ‘Do you know when the waltz will be played?’

‘I believe razzer later in ze evening, certainly well after supper.’

‘You mean I shall have to wait hours for the pleasure of your company on the dance floor?’ Dean asked flirtatiously.

‘Zis is a very unpleasant prospect. If you do not zink it will scandalise ze neighbourhood, I would also like to request ze supper dance.’ Castiel looked up at Dean from beneath his long, dark eyelashes, a coy expression that contradicted the boldness of his request.

‘I do not care if it _does_ scandalise the neighbourhood,’ Dean replied in a low voice. ‘I would not give up the opportunity to have your company at supper, and to dance with you twice.’

‘We are of ze same mind zen. I ‘ope you enjoy yourself in ze meantime.’

‘And you.’ 

The ball proceeded as balls tended to do, and both Dean and Castiel stood with members of their own party as well as with guests from the neighbourhood. Word had made it around about the waltz, and it was clear that some dancers were saving that dance for someone particular. Longing glances were thrown the way of the gentlemen of the house party from neighbourhood girls, but only Lord Gabriel requested that his name be put down on a lady’s card. It was easy to see why she had caught his eye; her skin tone was several shades darker than anyone else in the room, and her hair jet black. 

‘Miss Kali Sharma,’ Charlie explained when she stood up with Dean. ‘She is the daughter of an Indian diplomat, but has spent most of her life in England. It is my understanding that her father has a vast fortune in India, and is willing to pay a very large dowry were she to catch a British husband.’

‘Thank you for the information, but I shall leave Lord Gabriel to it. Any other likely prospects?’ Charlie half-heartedly rattled off a few names, but Dean’s enthusiasm was equally lukewarm, and the conversation moved on to other topics until the dance ended.

After what felt like an eternity, the supper dance finally arrived, and with it the first chance to touch Castiel’s hand, even if through gloves. It was the Sir Roger de Coverley, which was a particular favourite of Dean’s, and after the lively spinning and leaping, they were both rather ready for refreshment. Dean offered his arm to Castiel, who happily took it, and they sat next to each other at the table. The white soup and negus, as well as the company, lifted their spirits again.

After two sets with more traditional country dances, the waltz was called. A few scandalised gasps could be heard from the more elderly chaperones, but the dancers took their places with alacrity. Despite Dean’s greater height, he deferred to Castiel to lead, as he knew the steps. The close hold, the strong feel of Castiel’s arm around his back, drove Dean nearly to distraction, but after a stumbling beginning, he soon learnt the steps and was gliding along the floor as elegantly as he had accomplished the others. Even so, he felt an ungainly clod next to the effortless poise of his partner.

‘You are a very fine dancer, Cas,’ Dean complimented him. ‘I have rarely seen such grace.’

‘You flatter me, Dean,’ Castiel murmured in his ear, one of many benefits of the waltz. ‘You are also very elegant on your feet. I would ‘appily ‘ave watched you all night, except zat I would not ‘ave ‘ad ze pleasure of dancing wiz you myself.’

‘That would have denied both of us a great pleasure, I believe,’ Dean replied boldly, his heart thudding in his chest.

Castiel’s lip quirked up at the side. ‘I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.’

Dean felt his face grow hot at the flirtatious banter. He had exchanged such pleasantries with ladies and gentlemen on many occasions before, but something about Castiel unbalanced him, made him feel each word deeply. ‘You are generosity itself.’ To his chagrin and relief, the dance came to an end, and they pulled apart with mutual reluctance.

‘You look razzer warm,’ Castiel said with concern. ‘I am a bit over’eated myself. Per’aps we can take a turn about ze garden, breaze ze fresh air?’ He offered Dean his arm, and Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel’s muscular biceps.

‘Lead the way.’ They walked out from the ballroom at a leisurely pace, simply enjoying each other’s company. Dean leaned in a bit closer once they were out of sight of the other guests, drawn to Castiel like a magnet. ‘What a beautiful night.’

‘Delightful,’ Castiel murmured closer to Dean’s ear than expected. 

‘Um, Cas… personal space?’

‘My apologies,’ Castiel replied, but did not move away. Instead, he brought his hand up to Dean’s cheek, stroking it with his fingertips before cupping Dean’s jaw. ‘Dean.’

Dean swallowed nervously, sucking in a breath as Castiel stepped closer still. ‘Yes, Cas?’

‘Dean, if I have misunderstood, please stop me.’ After a moment’s pause to allow Dean to step away- an opportunity Dean most decidedly did not take- Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s. A whimper in Dean’s throat became a moan as Castiel deepened the kiss. After a few breathtaking seconds, he finally pulled back.

‘Cas… that was…’

‘Wonderful,’ Castiel finished. 

‘Very,’ Dean agreed. He licked his lips, and Castiel’s eyes tracked the motion. 

‘As are you, _mon cher_.’ He brushed his knuckles along Dean’s cheek. Dean’s eyes fluttered closed, but when Castiel leaned in again, Dean stepped back.

‘Cas, I… my God, how I wish… but I cannot. I am so sorry, Cas, with all my heart, but I cannot.’ With that, he turned and ran back to the house, leaving Castiel staring after him.

‘Damn it all!’ Castiel cursed, running his hands roughly through his hair. ‘Why did I not tell him? What must he think of me now?’

**********

Dean rushed back to his chamber, not bothering to take his leave of the other guests. He knew it was rude, but he was not fit for company at that moment, neither physically nor mentally. As soon as he was in the safety of the room, he threw off his coat and cravat and began pacing the floor. He felt as though the kiss was still burning his lips, so ardent was the passion it had awakened in him, but fast upon its heels came the guilt. He could not make Castiel an offer; it was simply impossible with his circumstances. Therefore, to have led him on the way he had over the past few weeks- to have constantly sought out his company, walked with him, gone shooting and riding together, even dancing the waltz- these were the actions of a suitor. He had drawn Castiel in so well that the gentleman had felt sufficiently confident to kiss him the moment they were alone in the garden. 

But unless Castiel recovered his estates or the Admiralty restored Dean’s prize (neither seeming a very likely outcome), he could not _be_ a suitor for Castiel’s hand. Shame overwhelmed him as he realised how deeply he had taken advantage of Castiel’s good nature and affection. He felt like a scoundrel, but worst of all, the only thing he truly wanted in that moment was to taste Castiel’s lips again.

******

Charlie had only noticed Dean’s disappearance from the ball much later than she would ever admit publicly. In her defence, she had found her focus consumed rather completely by Miss Harvelle, but still- it was embarrassing. To the best of her knowledge, Dean had not reappeared, and as far as she could tell, Castiel had been suspiciously absent as well. Charlie was delighted and applauded herself for a scheme well-planned. However, suspecting that her plans had come to fruition was nothing in the face of discovering for sure, so she did as any good hostess would do and called for the butler once the party had ended and the guests had either left or retired to their rooms. 

Upon her inquiry as to the current whereabouts of one baronet and one Frenchman, the butler informed her, however, of disheartening news: while the two gentlemen had seemed to enjoy each other’s company in the garden, Mr Novacque and Sir Dean had then parted ways and not met again during the remainder of the ball. Mr Novacque was, to the best of the butler’s knowledge, currently in his chambers, and Sir Dean had apparently felt the need for some fresh air and had gone on a walk through the gardens. The butler had not felt it incumbent on him to follow Sir Dean 'at this hour of the night', but one of the footmen had reported a little later that Sir Dean had made it safely back inside, if not back to his room. If Lady Bradbury really felt the need to talk to Sir Dean at this much advanced hour- the butler’s disapproving eyebrows told her just what he thought of that idea- she might, however, discover him in the orangery. Charlie thanked the butler and bade him a good night. Dean’s behaviour struck her as odd, though, so she made her way towards the orangery as well. 

The orangery had a domed glass ceiling and, with the tall glass windows, looked more like a greenhouse than a regular building. The air was thick with the scent of orange and lemon blossoms. No candle was lit and the room was dark apart from the moon that shone bright and full in the sky. Charlie found Dean sitting on the floor between two tall, potted trees, leaning against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. 

'Sir Dean!' she called, walking quickly towards him. Even in the dim light Dean visibly startled. 'What is amiss? I saw you leaving the ball with Mr Novacque after your waltz, and I rather expected to find you writing sonnets to praise his fine eyes and lips in your chambers. Although I must admit that staring forlornly at the moon from beneath a lemon tree is also very much in the spirit of our much-loved novels.'

'Lady Bradbury,' Dean said and made to stand to greet her properly. 

'Pish-posh, Sir Dean, stay seated,' Charlie said and unceremoniously sat down on the floor in front of him. 

'My lady?' Dean asked, obviously unsure what to do.

'Now, tell me, Sir Dean, what are you doing here? What are you thinking about?' Charlie smirked and winked conspiratorially. 'Or should I rather say, _who_ are you thinking about? Or maybe what are you thinking about if you are, perchance, thinking about a certain French gentleman?'

'To be honest, I am doing my best not to think about Mr Novacque at all,' Dean whispered. 

'What?' Charlie asked, so confused she forgot to be polite. 'Why?'

Dean sighed. 'I should like to keep this to myself, but since you are the hostess of the party-'

'-and hopefully someone you see as a friend-' Charlie injected.

'-and a good friend,' Dean acknowledged, 'I suppose it is only fair to tell you.' Dean let his head fall back against the wall and gave Charlie a sad look. 'My regard for Mr Novacque has grown so much in such a short time, he makes me feel quite unlike anyone else ever has before. I am unable to afford to spend any more time with him, in the most literal sense. The last weeks… Lady Bradbury, you are well aware of my situation, and I am no simpleton; I know well the reason, or at least one reason, why you afforded me the honour of an invitation to your party. I should have spent the last weeks making the most of this chance and looking for a suitable match, as you surely intended, but I…’ 

Dean had to stop and pull himself back together. Charlie had her suspicions confirmed, Dean had indeed taken a liking to Castiel, but he looked so distraught that her success gave her no pleasure. 

'Sir Dean,' she started, carefully. 'Surely you must know, I am quite positive that C- Mr Novacque might share your feelings-'

'But what good does that do me?' Dean interrupted with a bitter laugh. 'Forgive me for interrupting, and for putting this so crudely, but I require a rich spouse, and while Cas, forgive me again, Mr Novacque might have my hea- I mean, his hair styled in an exceptionally nice way, he is in much the same position financially as I am, and I am a scoundrel and a cad for having led him on the way I have, even ki-' 

Dean clamped his mouth shut and looked away. He took a deep breath, and another. The moonlight glinted off something wet on his cheek, quickly removed by a rough swipe of his hand, and Charlie could feel her heart break. Dean rose to his feet and offered to help her stand as well.

'I have to beg your forgiveness once more, for this outburst,' he said. 'It is late indeed and I had best return to my chambers. I bid you goodnight, Lady Bradbury.'

Sketching a stiff bow, Dean left, his shoulders slumped and his face drawn.

Charlie had intended to play matchmaker, but this had become far too convoluted with Castiel insisting on his ridiculous ruse. Charlie, however, did not dare to tell Dean about Castiel’s disguise either; she could not imagine that anything good would come of it if it wasn’t Castiel who owned up to it to Dean- and who got down straight to his knees to beg for forgiveness. Charlie might have even enjoyed the ruse a little in the beginning, but she had not intended for Dean to suffer thus. Of course Dean was much too honourable to propose marriage to Castiel, let alone an affair, if he felt that he could not make an offer because of his estate and Sam. 

'Oh Dean,' she sighed. There was nothing for it, she would have to convince Castiel to end this ruse, even if it meant that she would have to admit to her own deceit. 

**********

The next day, the skies were grey with no signs of the weather improving anytime soon. The poor weather reflected in the dull spirits of the guests, who gazed despondently at the sheets of rain that prevented their planned amusements.

‘Perhaps we should have games,’ Jo said half-heartedly from where she reclined on the settee. ‘Anything to break up this abominable boredom.’

‘We could play a round of _Bouts-Rimés_ ,’ Sam suggested, taking a sheaf of paper and pen from the writing desk. ‘I shall make a list of rhyming words, and everyone has to write a poem to the rhymes in the same order that they were placed upon the list.’ He did not wait for a reply before scribbling down a few words. ‘Who would like to start?’

‘I shall attempt zis,’ Castiel offered. ‘It will do me good to practice my English in zis way.’ Sam handed him the paper and pen cheerfully, but poetry was the last thing on Castiel’s mind when he saw the handwriting. It was a perfect match to the letter Charlie had shown him just before the ball; Sam was the extortionist! 

‘ _Monsieur_ Novacque, are you quite well?’ he heard Sam’s concerned voice to his right, and assumed that meant his shock was visible.

‘I am sorry, a sudden bout of dizziness. I beg you will all excuse me.’ He looked meaningfully at Charlie, who paled and leapt out of her seat. 

‘Let me help you, cousin,’ she said as she ran to his side and offered her arm in support. ‘Whatever is the matter?’ she whispered as they walked away from the stunned room, but he did not reply until they were out of earshot.

‘It is Mr Winchester,’ he said gravely, dropping the French accent. ‘He is the extortionist.’

‘What? No, it cannot be!’ she replied urgently.

‘His hand wrote the letter you showed me. It is a perfect match.’ He showed her the paper Sam had given him, and she sighed deeply, pressing her fingertips to her temples.

‘Damn,’ she muttered, but Castiel knew her too well to be shocked by her cursing. 

‘I am sure this comes as a blow to you,’ he said gently. ‘There is no need for a scandal, we can keep this quiet.’

‘Keep what quiet?’

Castiel turned slowly towards the new arrival, wishing to defer the painful moment that was about to take place. ‘Dean.’ Charlie’s eyes widened at the intimate address, but Dean stepped forward before he could say another word.

‘That apparently you are not really French, perhaps?’ Dean whispered angrily, his face red and vexed with betrayal. ‘That you have been making fools of us all for the last few weeks?’

Castiel knew that Dean had every right to feel angry at his deception, but he could not help the defensiveness that leapt up in his breast. ‘No; that your brother is a scoundrel.’

‘Castiel,’ Charlie began urgently, but Dean cut across her.

‘My brother is not the one hiding his identity and lying to everyone,’ Dean snapped.

‘Is he not? He shows the appearance of a gentleman of honour, but he has been extorting Lady Bradbury these past two months, demanding payment in exchange for silence about a private matter that the lady does not wish to come to light. Is that the behaviour of an honest man?’

Dean’s eyes narrowed threateningly, his nostrils flaring with rage and lips pursing so tightly that dimples appeared at the sides of his mouth. ‘How dare you, sir. He has done no such thing!’

‘Perhaps he has not acted alone,’ Castiel sneered back. ‘I doubt he could do anything without you knowing of it. I suppose you helped him, abusing the lady’s friendship to gather incriminating information about her.’

Dean stepped back as if struck, a look of agony replacing the one of anger. ‘This is truly what you think of me?’ he asked hoarsely, a sharp despair in his tone tugging at Castiel’s heart-strings. Before he could reply, Charlie stepped between them.

‘Stop this nonsense at once!’ she shouted. ‘It was all a sham!’ They both turned to her with matching shocked expressions. ‘Castiel refused my invitation, so I appealed to his sense of intrigue by inventing an extortion scheme,’ she admitted shame-facedly. ‘I had planned to tell him the truth once he arrived at Bradbury, but he came to Bath first, and I was afraid if I did not concede to his subterfuge to discover the extortionist, that he would not come at all. It all grew quickly out of my control.’ She twisted her handkerchief anxiously, tears pooling in her eyes.

‘But the letter,’ Castiel said weakly. ‘It matched Mr Winchester’s hand.’

‘I brought him into my confidence. When you demanded to see the threats, I did not know what to do. You knew my hand, so I had to have someone else write it. I explained my motives, and he agreed to help.’

Dean was incredulous. ‘What possible motives could you have that would make Sam agree to such a scheme?’ 

She looked back and forth between them, and Castiel groaned. ‘Charlie, you did not.’ 

Dean scowled. ‘You are overly familiar, sir.’

‘He is not,’ Charlie assured him. ‘Castiel is like a brother to me. We practically grew up together.’ She turned to Castiel pleadingly. ‘You would never have come if you had understood my intentions, but you must admit that I was right.’ Castiel blushed and did not disagree.

‘Would someone care to explain it to me?’ Dean asked tersely.

‘Lady Bradbury fancies herself a matchmaker,’ Castiel informed him, ‘and we were her unwitting targets.’

Dean gaped at him, the redness of his face no longer from anger. ‘I do not understand. Lady Bradbury is well aware of my... financial constraints in forming an attachment.’

Charlie looked at him sheepishly. ‘Sir Dean, allow me to introduce Lord James Emmanuel Stephen Castiel Scott, second son of the late Duke of Inveresk and younger brother to the current one.’

Dean’s jaw only didn’t drop because his mouth was already open. ‘You… you are… a _Scot_?’

There was a beat of silence, and then both Castiel and Charlie had to laugh despite the severity of the situation. ‘ _That_ is what you took from this?’ Charlie gasped as she caught her breath. 

‘I do not know what I take from this!’ Dean exclaimed, embarrassed. ‘You invented a subterfuge to get Cas… excuse me, Lord James, to attend your party, and he invented a subterfuge to resolve _your_ subterfuge, which means every word he has said to me has been a lie!’

‘Not every word,’ Castiel corrected him quietly. ‘Quite a few of them were particularly true.’ Dean blushed, but did not reply. ‘You have every right to be vexed with me. For a while, I even suspected _you_ to be the extortionist due to your odd behaviour around me.’

‘Odd behaviour?’ Dean asked. ‘What odd behaviour?’

‘You stammered and flushed and fidgeted nervously. I read it as a sign of guilt.’

‘Well, not all of us are good at being calm in the presence of extremely handsome men,’ Dean replied defensively, crossing his arms and glaring at Castiel. ‘Some of us have strong emotions that we make a poor effort of hiding when the object of our affection is near.’

‘Dean,’ Castiel said with impossible fondness, his eyes softening in an affectionate expression. ‘Though some of us may be better at concealing our emotions, I can assure you that doesn’t make them any less passionate.’

‘I feel that I am no longer needed for this conversation,’ Charlie said as she sidled back towards the drawing room. ‘May I suggest the library for privacy?’ Without waiting for a reply, she dashed back through the doors and closed them behind her. Not for an instant did Dean and Castiel break their gaze.

‘Cas, I… my apologies, I mean, Lord James-’

‘No,’ Castiel interrupted, ‘not to you. I am still Cas. The accent was false, but much of what I told you was truly me, my history, my experiences… my feelings.’ He took a step closer, placing a hand over Dean’s crossed arms. 

‘And when you kissed me?’ Dean asked, his voice husky. 

Castiel’s hand moved to Dean’s cheek. ‘That, I can assure you, was entirely me.’ His thumb brushed Dean’s cheekbone, and Dean’s eyes fluttered closed as he sighed. ‘I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard that could no longer be satisfied by coy looks and hands held during dancing. I needed to feel your lips against mine, and I rejoiced in my success even as I knew how improper it was. I was never so close to revealing my true identity as in that moment.’

Dean huffed out a breath and gently removed Castiel’s hand by the wrist. ‘And yet you did not. You allowed me to persist under the delusion that you were an impoverished Frenchman who could not marry me, taking liberties that I could not resist because I was already starting to lo-’ Dean cut himself off. ‘It does not matter. I do not know you, not really. And I do not know how I can trust you.’

Castiel chuckled, a rueful, sardonic thing. ‘I cannot believe I ever thought you a fortune hunter.’

‘An extortionist, a fortune hunter. My faults by this calculation are heavy indeed. I wonder that you cared to spend even a moment in my company.’

‘I confess, at first it was to observe you and attempt to discern your crimes. But eventually, I just wanted to be near you. I have never been so bewitched by anyone as I have been by you.’

‘I seem to recall that you were the one casting spells,’ Dean said wryly, his lips a thin line. 'Turns out you were not casting spells but nets of lies.'

‘You would be surprised at how few lies there were-’

'Omissions then.'

Castiel's shoulders fell. ‘This I cannot deny.’

Dean stopped short as another thought occurred to him. 'Wait… Mr Crowley is also a Scot. Was he privy to your ruse?’

Castiel rolled his eyes. ‘Scotland may be a small country, but we do not all know each other, Dean.’

‘Oh, yes, of course, foolish of me,’ Dean muttered sheepishly, but Castiel took pity on him.

‘As it happens, I have met Mr Crowley once or twice in the past, but not since I was a boy, and he did not recognise me on this occasion. Or if he has, he did not mention it. He was certainly not part of the scheme, as he too was a suspect.’

‘I would have lain my money on him had there truly been an extortionist. Although, now that I consider it, I have never known him to keep any gossip to himself long enough to profit from it.’ They both chuckled at this shrewd observation of Crowley’s character.

'If it will take magic for you to forgive me, perhaps I shall ask Mr Crowley to introduce me to his mother after all,' he continued at an attempt of lightheartedness, and Dean quickly sobered.

‘Magic is not real, and I am currently disinclined to believe in things that are not real,’ Dean replied. ‘I need to be alone with my thoughts, try to sort what was true and what was fantasy. I know you say your feelings and desires were genuine, but I must now learn what my own are again.’

Castiel’s face fell, but he nodded. ‘I understand. Should you wish to speak to me, you have merely to ask.’ 

Dean nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and returned to his chamber; Castiel felt tempted to do the same, but there was little chance that the other guests had not heard at least some of what had transpired, and he must owe them some explanation. With a deep breath, he returned to the drawing room.


	6. Chapter 6

The excited chatter that followed what he assumed was Charlie’s confession to the party halted suddenly when he came through the doors. Sam looked mortified, the Harvelles and Miss Blake looked disapproving, and Gabriel and Crowley looked positively delighted.

‘I cannot believe I failed to recognise you,’ Crowley said first. ‘You have the Inveresk nose and chin as prominently as any of your ancestors. I must credit the quality of your acting to explain it; have you considered a career in the theatre?’ Castiel rolled his eyes in reply, and Crowley merely smirked.

Sam spoke next. ‘I apologise for my part in it. Lady Bradbury is very persuasive, and the scheme seemed logical at the time.’

Castiel had to laugh at that. ‘I cannot argue with that. Our childhood is littered with Lady Bradbury’s schemes and the skelpings from our nurses that invariably followed. I apologise for thinking you capable of such nefarious behaviour. Every instinct rebelled, and it was only the evidence of your hand that induced me to believe it.’

‘Why a Frenchie, though?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Why the play-acting at all?’

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck, shamefaced. ‘I have spent the better part of the last decade in France, so it seemed somehow appropriate. I feared that, were my true identity known, people would not let down their guard enough to let me get at the truth.’

‘It certainly worked on Sir Dean,’ Gabriel teased with a waggle of his eyebrows, and received the sharp end of Charlie’s elbow for his trouble.

Castiel’s crestfallen look reduced Gabriel’s mirth. ‘I have caused him much distress with my deception, however unintentional. I know not how to make amends.’

‘A generous marriage settlement can cure many ills,’ Crowley suggested. ‘When I first began courting my beloved Abigail, she threatened to stab me with a letter opener, but when she heard my proposal and toured my estates, she became much more amenable.’ Gabriel chortled beside him, but Castiel could not enjoy the humour. 

‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but I feel unequal to witty conversation this afternoon. I pray you will excuse me.’ He bowed and did not wait for a reply before retiring to his room. 

When he rejoined the party for dinner, the atmosphere was more subdued, Crowley and Gabriel having worked out all of their japes and jibes earlier. Dean did not join them, so Charlie had a tray sent to his chambers. After the barest time spent making himself agreeable after dinner for the sake of politeness, Castiel retired early and spent a restless night planning what he would say to Dean on the morrow.

Having finally fallen asleep shortly before dawn, Castiel did not rise until much later than his usual habit, and found he was the last to break his fast. Charlie joined him for a second cup of coffee, and he could tell by her discomfiture that she had bad news to impart.

‘Sir Dean has returned to Bath,’ she said with no preamble, ‘left quite early this morning.’

‘And will he be returning?’ Castiel asked, eyes firmly on the food that he was now unlikely to eat.

‘I do not believe he intends to do so.’ She squeezed his forearm comfortingly. ‘I am sorry, Cas, this is all my fault.’

‘Hush, it is my own foolishness and pride that is to blame. Despite what I knew of Dean, I still thought that he would simply forgive me once he understood my motives. I gave little thought to how my deception would hurt him, and I deserve to suffer for my arrogant presumption.’

Charlie rolled her eyes. ‘You have become so dramatic since your stay in France. I am sure that Dean simply needs time to comprehend all that has occurred, and then you can apologise again and live happily ever after.’

‘This is not one of the novels we love, Charlie. I fear the cut may be too deep to heal. He was humiliated in front of all your guests, in front of his own brother,’ Castiel insisted. ‘Can he truly forgive such a slight?’

Charlie sighed. ‘In these last weeks, you have come to know Sir Dean almost as well as I, perhaps better in some ways. What does your study of his character tell you?’ She did not wait for a reply, but simply finished her coffee and swept out of the room in a swish of skirts.

**********

Dean was not moping. Yes, he had been betrayed and humiliated in front of his societal betters and disappointed in the love he had only recently admitted to himself that he felt. And yes, he had scurried away from Bradbury to return to his rooms in Bath, where he could be alone with his pain and grief.

Very well, he _was_ moping, but he felt that he had earned the right. He had thought that he was falling in love, after all, and then he had learnt that the object of his affection was merely a figment, a character in some ridiculous play in which he had not known he was a player. It was enough to make anyone mope- he would challenge the Duke of Wellington himself to experience such a tragedy and not feel ill-used.

He had been desperate to leave Bradbury, but now found himself at just as much of a loss in Bath. He had refused to think on the affair for a full week before finally succumbing to introspection, and still had not made much progress in the matter. Cas- no, Lord James- had assured him that, in essentials, he was the man Dean had fallen for, that it was only the accent and unimportant details of his biography that had been false. But how could that be true? He was the second son of a duke, and he had spent most of their acquaintance trying to discover whether Dean was an extortionist. It seemed impossible that any of the tender moments they had shared were real.

Admittedly, the kiss had felt devastatingly real. Surely even a very good actor could not falsify the ardour of that kiss? Was it wishful to believe that the passion between them had not been feigned? Dean sighed as he paced his bedchamber. Real or not, the kiss had been a liberty that Castiel had no right to take; regardless of how badly they may both have wanted it, if Castiel did not intend to make an offer…

Dean stopped, his heart along with his feet. What if… if Castiel had taken liberties because he _did_ intend to make an offer, once he had felt free to reveal his true identity? What if _he still intended to do so_? 

Dean fought back the hope that arose unbidden in his chest. Should he even wish for an offer? Castiel had deceived him, humiliated him, and Dean knew he was right to be angry at Castiel’s duplicity, but… had he not done it with a noble cause in mind? Lady Bradbury was his dear friend and he wished to protect her, an impulse Dean understood well. Dean had been nothing to him when the ruse began, so why should he have cared that his actions might have wounded some unknown stranger in the future? Of course he would not have done.

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Dean huffed out a harsh breath and threw himself onto his bed. Whatever Castiel’s intentions had been, it seemed moot. Dean had run away like a petulant child, and now he would never know. Perhaps they might see each other in passing now that Castiel was established in Britain again, but if he was not of a social inclination, it seemed unlikely they would be much in company. No doubt he would avoid Lady Bradbury’s parties unless it was certain that Dean would not attend. The thought made his heart clench.

Now that it was outwith his power, he wanted nothing more than to see Castiel once more. But he could not go back to Bradbury now, and besides, it was likely that the party was to break up shortly. Sam had not returned yet, but his last letter (which used most of its paper extolling the virtues of Miss Blake and not so much as half an inch on Castiel) indicated that he would return to Bath soon. There was no point in rejoining the party at its end; he would look even more foolish than he had when leaving it.

A knock on the door startled him from his reverie. ‘Sir, you have a caller,’ Fitzgerald, informed him from behind the door. ‘Shall I take his card?’

Dean glanced at the mirror and deemed himself fit for company after smoothing his hair down with a brush. ‘I shall come presently. Has he stated his business?’

‘The gentleman says it is a private matter, sir.’

‘Very well,’ Dean replied with a frown, wondering what this could be about. He had hoped to be past the time when his father’s creditors would come to him for payment, but he could not imagine what else the mysterious visitor could be about. With a last tug at his sleeves, Dean left his bedchamber and followed his valet to the drawing room.

‘Lord James Scott,’ Fitzgerald announced before bowing and departing, closing the door behind him. 

Castiel stood and gave Dean a sharp bow, but all Dean could do was gape at him. It was as if the man had materialised from his very thoughts, and all their talk of magic at Bradbury suddenly seemed less far-fetched.

‘Good afternoon, Sir Dean. I hope you are in good health.’ His words seemed calm, but Dean noticed how he fiddled with the edge of his waistcoat anxiously. Knowing that Castiel was nervous as well allowed Dean to master his own feelings.

‘Ca… Lord James,’ he corrected himself, and Castiel’s face fell at the formal appellation. ‘I am in very good health, thank you. And you?’

‘Yes, excellent health, I thank you.’

‘Have you come to Bath recently?’

‘Yes, I am just arrived. Lady Bradbury sends her regards, and all your friends from the party.’

‘That is kind of them. Thank you for the message.’ Castiel nodded, seemingly uncertain of what to say next. ‘What business brings you here? To Bath I mean.’

‘I… that is… the business that brings me to Bath is the business that brings me here. I came to see _you_.’

‘Me? Why?’

What Dean had come to think of as Castiel’s confused owl expression- head tilted, eyes squinting- appeared, and he had to fight a smile. ‘I know we did not part on the best terms, and Lady Bradbury warned me that it may be too soon, but I did not want to return to Scotland without knowing… without asking whether you might, perhaps, wish to continue our acquaintance?’

Dean had never seen Castiel look so uncertain, and his own heart had never beaten so fast. Could this mean what he so desperately wanted it to mean? ‘ _You_ wish to continue our acquaintance?’

‘Yes, of course!’ Castiel replied eagerly.

‘I was not sure if my departure had made you think ill of me,’ Dean admitted, but Castiel stepped closer shaking his head.

‘Nothing could make me think ill of you, Dean.’ He put a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder, and when it was not forcibly removed, tightened his grip. ‘You are the best man I have ever known.’

‘You have come to that conclusion very recently,’ Dean scoffed. ‘I seem to recall that you had a very different impression not so long ago.’

Castiel flinched and retracted his hand. ‘You are still angry with me. I understand. I have spent the last week in a storm of self-recrimination and regret, and I can never apologise enough for my deception. I can only say again that it was not ill-intentioned, and that I shared true parts of myself with you that I have never shared with another soul- despite the accent with which I shared them being false.’ Dean did not respond, so Castiel sighed defeatedly. ‘I assume this means that you are not amenable to a correspondence. I shall not take up any more of your time then.’ He began to turn away, but Dean caught his arm.

‘And that is that, then?’

‘Sorry?’

‘That is all the effort you are willing to make for my forgiveness?’

Castiel’s eyes grew wide as he stepped closer still. ‘I am willing to make any effort for your forgiveness. I simply did not wish to importune you with my presence if it is unwanted.’

‘It is not unwanted.’

With a small smile, Castiel returned his hand to Dean’s shoulder. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘I need an answer to a particular question.’

‘If it is in my power to answer, I will do so.’

‘When you… took liberties at Lady Bradbury’s ball…’ Dean paused, not knowing how to phrase it without sounding desperate.

‘What were my intentions?’ Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. ‘I had already determined you were not the culprit, and that my feelings for you were exceedingly tender. I realised that, all modesty aside, I was an eligible match for you, and once I could reveal my true identity, I would be in a position to make you an offer that, in my arrogance, I assumed you would not hesitate to accept.’

‘What kind of offer?’ Dean asked warily.

‘Why, an offer of marriage of course!’ Castiel’s eyes widened in horror when he understood the underlying meaning of Dean’s question. ‘Dean! I would never debase you by making any sort of untoward or unrespectable offer! I love you too dearly for that!’

‘You love me?’ Dean asked breathlessly.

‘I had not meant to blurt it out so unceremoniously, but yes, Dean. Of course I love you.’

‘Cas,’ Dean began, but decided that words were superfluous and instead captured Castiel’s lips in a passionate kiss that was enthusiastically reciprocated. When they finally paused for breath, Dean kept his hand on the back of Castiel’s neck to keep him close and rested their foreheads together. ‘I fell in love with the Castiel I met at Bradbury; the man who carried guinea pigs in his pockets as a child, who can watch a bee go from flower to flower for half a day, who will read a treatise on philosophy or a gothic horror with equal pleasure, who is so radical in his politics that the staunchest Whig would beg restraint.’ Castiel grinned at the description of his character. ‘Are you that man, Cas?’

‘I am. Those were my stories, my beliefs. My guinea pigs that escaped into the kitchens and ruined a sack of flour, my poorly hidden penchant for brooding villains in castles. I was born in Haddingtonshire, not France, and my family name is Scott, not Novacque, but the rest… all true, and nothing more true than the passion I feel for you.’

Dean kissed him again, and the two men spent several minutes thus engaged before Dean forced himself to pull back. ‘If you were still inclined to make that offer eventually-’

‘Marry me,’ Castiel interrupted. ‘If you wish it, we can be at Gretna Green in four days if we change horses frequently.’

Dean laughed and kissed him again. ‘A very tempting prospect, but I would not wish to begin our married life with a scandal. I am certain that I shall already be looked upon with suspicion and disdain by all the ladies and gentlemen of the ton who did not even have a chance to try and woo you.’

Castiel ignored the teasing to ask bluntly, ‘Is that a yes?’

‘It is a most ardent and enthusiastic yes, sweetheart.’

Part of Castiel knew they should immediately begin discussing arrangements, and that he should write to his family and solicitor to draught the marriage settlement, but he swept such concerns aside in favour of more kissing. A delay of a few minutes more would not throw things into disarray, after all.

Unfortunately, they were interrupted by the door being thrown open, and Sam’s cheerful voice shouting out a greeting that was cut off by a surprised gargle. They hastily broke apart, but it was more than obvious what they had been doing.

‘Um… hello,’ Sam said, unable to meet their eyes. ‘This is unexpected.’

Dean pulled Castiel close and kissed his temple sweetly. ‘Do not make yourself uneasy, Sammy. We are engaged.’ Castiel felt his face stretch with a kind of wide smile to which it was unaccustomed. _Engaged!_ How he loved that word!

Sam brightened at that, crossing the room with a quick stride and shaking both their hands vigorously. ‘When did this happen? And how?’

‘Oh, about five minutes ago,’ Dean replied jovially. ‘Cas came to see me to ask if he might write to me from Scotland, but I had greater demands to make of him.’ He waggled his eyebrows at his brother, who wrinkled his nose at the implication.

‘Dean has been more generous with me than I deserve, and I shall endeavour to earn it for what remains of my life,’ Castiel assured Sam. ‘And I do hope that will be many years, with him by my side.’ He cast an adoring gaze on his future husband, and found it returned with equal ardour.

‘I do not volunteer to be your chaperone if I would be subjected to such looks between you all day,’ Sam joked. ‘A man can hardly hold his breakfast with such a sappy display.’

Dean smacked his brother’s arm teasingly. ‘Swine!’

‘Ass,’ Sam retaliated, and Castiel had to jump out of the way with a laugh as the brothers began to wrestle.

‘Gentlemen, if I may interrupt this display of brotherly affection for a moment,’ Castiel shouted, ‘I must say my farewells.’

Dean stopped immediately, looking stricken. ‘What? Why? You have only just arrived.’

‘I have a great deal of business to attend to, which requires me to go first to London, then to Edinburgh. I must inform my family, have the marriage settlement drawn up, apply for the special licence, plan the wedding-‘

Dean put a finger to his lips to stop him. ‘You can write your letters from here. Let your horse rest, have dinner with us, and go to London on the morrow. I shall ride with you, for I have my own business to attend to in this. Then you can take me to Edinburgh to introduce me to your family, who have a right to know what they have got themselves into by your reckless proposal,’ he teased.

‘Are you certain?’ Castiel asked hopefully. ‘I would not wish to burden you.’

‘And I would not wish to be apart from you. Besides, did we not make a pact that we would travel your homeland together? It may be a different one than I expected, but I still intend to hold you to your promise.’

Castiel took Dean’s hand and kissed it. ‘I should be delighted to have you with me.’ They stared into each other’s eyes lovingly, making Sam groan again. ‘And if all the wedding planning becomes too much, well, we shall already be in Scotland and can elope more easily then,’ he continued impertinently, and Dean rewarded him with a full body laugh.

‘I was quite serious about not being your chaperone!’ Sam announced. ‘You shall have to find some other travel companion to subject to your lovemaking eyes.’

Castiel grinned. ‘I know just the person for the task.’

Lady Bradbury was, of course, delighted to travel to Scotland with them, as it would also give her the opportunity to visit with Anna and her new son. Though unmarried herself, her well-known proclivity for the gentler sex made her as effective a chaperone as the dowdiest maiden aunt. She took every opportunity on the week-long journey to be smug in her matchmaking abilities, and neither Castiel nor Dean could begrudge her the victory.

They were simply too happy.

Castiel’s family could not hide their surprise at his news, but made a concerted effort to welcome Dean and get to know him. Anna, who had already briefly met him in Bath and had heard so much of him from Charlie, was predisposed to like him, and he gained her full approval with the tender way he coddled her month-old baby when given the opportunity to hold him. The dream-like look on Castiel’s face at the spectacle did not make it difficult to see where his thoughts inclined; Anna thought to herself that had Dean been a woman, it would not be long after their marriage before he found himself in the family way.

Michael and his wife Hester were less enthusiastic, but for different reasons; she because of snobbery and the ever-present fear of losing her position, and he because of the illness that still wracked him, though he was much improved from earlier in the summer. He was friendly with Dean, at least, and formally gave his blessing for the union. 

It was decided that the wedding would take place in Haddingtonshire to save Michael and Anna the need to travel, while Dean had only Sam and their friend Mr Singer he needed to invite anyway. Charlie insisted that the guests from her party were now their friends as well, and would be delighted to see them plight their troth to each other after witnessing them fall in love. The invitations were accepted by all with alacrity; Lord Gabriel sent his affirmative reply in French, which nearly made Castiel rescind the offer.

Lady Lanley, Miss Harvelle and Miss Blake arrived several days earlier than the other guests, and no one was surprised to receive the news of Miss Joanna Elizabeth Harvelle’s engagement to Lady Bradbury within twenty-four hours of her arrival. Despite the doe-eyed looks shared between Sam and Miss Blake, however, a second betrothal did not come to pass; although Dean had made an excellent match, the debts on the Winchester estate remained unresolved, and did not put Sam in a position to make an offer yet, much to his chagrin.

Mr Crowley brought his betrothed, Lady Don, a majestic flame-haired beauty, to the wedding; it was clear that she was not too far past the days of violent threats regarding letter openers, but Crowley was clearly enamoured and happily declared that their own nuptials would take place a few weeks hence in Edinburgh. Lady Don even smiled at that, though Dean in particular felt the expression only made her more intimidating.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, matching the grooms’ dispositions. The ceremony and wedding breakfast were as sumptuous as befitted a duke’s son, but Castiel noticed little of it. He was far more concerned with how Dean looked in his handsome new green coat that complemented his eyes, and the snug new breeches that left little to his fevered imagination. The celebrations were a formality to get through before the real prize could be reached: the wedding night.

For all that an untimely pregnancy could not happen between them (though with the short engagement, it would have been difficult to discern the timeliness anyway) and that it was not unknown for intimacy to anticipate wedding vows in betrothed couples, Dean and Castiel had actually completed a rather chaste engagement. Of course there had been kisses, lengthy and occasionally even torrid, but they always found themselves interrupted before they could progress beyond a tight press of hips and loosening of cravats. For all that he was not their chaperone, it all too frequently ended up being Sam who discovered them in their embraces, and the poor gentleman began to swear that he would seek out a pot of lye with which to cleanse the images from his mind.

When it was not Sam, it was Charlie who prevented any excessive amorousness, sometimes purposely in her chaperone duties and sometimes inadvertently like Sam. She would simply click her tongue, roll her eyes, and usher them out of whatever secluded corner they had managed to find.

So it was that they approached their wedding night unsullied by each other, and Castiel was most eager to sully his husband in every possible conformation. It was Anna who came to his rescue.

‘I can see that you are eager to be alone with your husband,’ she whispered with a sly grin. ‘If you wish to escape the clutches of your guests, I will make your excuses.’

‘You are the best sister God could send,’ Castiel said gratefully, and quickly walked over to where Dean was speaking to Charlie. ‘My love, may I steal you away?’

Dean groaned. ‘Please tell me it is not to introduce me to yet another aunt or cousin. I have lost count of them already.’

‘No indeed,’ Castiel murmured in his ear. ‘I have much pleasanter pastimes in mind.’

Dean blushed, and Charlie smirked behind her fan. ‘I should go speak to my beloved,’ she said embracing first Castiel, then Dean. ‘I am so happy for you both. Now be off with you, we have all had quite enough of your pining looks.’ She had barely turned around before Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him away from the wedding party.

‘Should we not at least say our farewells?’ Dean asked as he hurried to keep up.

‘Do you wish to be kept back another hour as we make the rounds of all the relations?’

‘I do not,’ Dean said adamantly, and they increased their pace further. When at last they reached Castiel’s chamber, they rushed inside and locked the door.

‘Do you wish me to summon your valet?’ Castiel asked, but Dean shook his head.

‘I am certain that you are equally capable of undressing me, husband.’

‘And if not, I should certainly learn, as I intend to be doing a great deal of it in future.’ After a brief struggle with the knot of Dean’s cravat, he managed to remove it and cast it aside as if it offended him. ‘I long for a day when fashion allows for a single layer of easily removable clothing,’ Castiel grumbled as he unbuttoned Dean’s coat. ‘If you were a lady, I could just lift your skirts.’

Dean laughed. ‘How romantic. I am certain a large number of ladies would be happy to lift their skirts for you, but even the most desperate would probably insist that you be a bit more thorough on their wedding night.’

‘Oh, I intend to be thorough with you, you need not be concerned about that,’ Castiel promised, his eyes darkening. ‘I wish to see, touch and taste every inch of your skin, even if I have to tear the clothes from your body to do it.’

‘I would prefer it did not come to that,’ Dean said with a slight hitch in his voice. ‘These clothes were very expensive.’

‘Then I will buy you new ones. I want you naked now.’

Dean shook his head and grabbed Castiel’s hands. ‘I am still not quite accustomed to how wealthy you are, but I _am_ quite accustomed to removing my own clothing, so please allow me before you rend such fine cloth.’ Castiel grumbled, but took a step back and allowed Dean to strip much more efficiently than he had been managing. His look grew more lecherous the more Dean removed. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. I just realised that this is perhaps even more enjoyable than doing it myself.’ He began to unbutton his own coat as he spoke. ‘It is much more entertaining than the theatre. Perhaps clothing removal shall be the next mania of the West End.’

Dean snorted. ‘Such performances are already standard fare with the Covent Garden ladies, Cas.’ At his husband’s blank expression, Dean laughed again. ‘You are clearly neither a sailor nor a lover of the gentler sex, my dear. The West End has twice as many brothels as theatres, and stripping is one of the services offered.’

Castiel frowned, but still took off his coat and placed it on a chair. ‘And how do _you_ know about these services?’

‘I _have_ been a sailor, and as you know, I am an admirer of both sexes.’ Now down to just his breeches, Dean stepped forward and assisted Castiel with his own cravat. ‘But there is no need to be jealous, my love. I did not partake in the _other_ services on offer in such places.’

‘But you have had lovers,’ Castiel stated rather than asked. ‘I do not begrudge you,’ he added quickly, ‘I have had one or two myself, back in France.’

‘I had the odd fumble with a crewmate before I was a captain,’ Dean admitted, ‘but I have never had done to me what you are about to do to me.’

‘And what is that?’ Castiel asked, his voice roughened by desire.

Dean untied the falls of his breeches and guided Castiel’s hand inside the loosened waistline at his back. ‘I want you to take me.’

Castiel closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath before squeezing Dean’s flesh. ‘Bloody hell. You are certain?’

‘I am, despite your use of such vulgar language, you ruffian,’ Dean teased. ‘I even went so far as to spend a vast sum to acquire a special treat.’

‘Consider me intrigued.’

Leaving Castiel to continue disrobing, Dean walked over to his trunk. After rifling around for a moment, he brought out a small jar, stoppered and sealed with wax. ‘A former colleague who now plies his trade with the East India Company furnished me with this.’

‘What is it?’

‘Oil of coconut. It is meant to provide a most pleasant experience.’

‘How exotic. The unexpected perquisites of marrying a sailor: a stripping show, exciting tropical lubrication… I am eager to learn what else is in store over the coming years.’

‘I am more interested in the coming minutes, assuming you ever manage to undress yourself fully.’ To set a good example for his husband, Dean removed his breeches and stockings, leaving himself completely bare for his husband’s enjoyment. As a further inducement, he pulled back the bedcovers and climbed onto the finely woven linen sheet that topped the luxurious mattress of their marital bed. Lying on his back with his legs invitingly spread and his manhood already standing proud from his belly, Dean opened the jar, coated one finger with the coconut oil, and dipped it between his legs until it found his entrance.

Castiel practically growled at this lascivious display, and finally succeeded in disrobing without destroying any articles of clothing. He joined Dean in the bed and took control of the oil, slicking his own fingers to prepare Dean for what was to come. To compensate for the discomfort, Castiel kissed him, first on the lips, then moving slowly down to his neck, his chest, stomach, hips, and at last his cock, lavishing it with open-mouthed kisses and licks before taking it fully into his mouth.

‘Cas!’ Dean cried out, gripping Castiel’s curls with his clean hand. ‘This is… I have never… ah!’

Castiel pulled off with a look of surprise. ‘What, never?’

‘Only,’ Dean gasped, ‘only hands, before. Bathing aboard ship was not exactly a regular occurrence, and when I was on land, I had other duties.’

‘Well, I shall endeavour to make up for lost time by doing this for you very regularly,’ Castiel smirked wickedly before returning to his efforts. By the time Dean was ready, he was trembling with need and moaning Castiel’s name in pleading tones. ‘Mmm, I wonder how you will sound when I apply my mouth elsewhere. I look forward to finding out.’

‘And I look forward to having you inside me. Please hurry.’

‘Since you asked so politely.’ Castiel took a bit more of the coconut oil (which, he had to admit, was very pleasant indeed) to slick his cock and positioned himself at Dean’s entrance. ‘I have not done this either, so please tell me if I hurt you.’

‘Who would have thought two handsome devils such as ourselves would still be maidens on our wedding night?’ Dean joked. ‘I promise I will tell you, but I know you would not hurt me, my love. Now please… make me yours.’

Castiel complied.


	7. Epilogue

The newlyweds used their bridal tour to fulfil their bargain of seeing Castiel’s homeland together. Dean was particularly enthralled by the Inveresk holdings in one of the northern counties of Scotland, with landscapes like he had never seen in the south of England. They were met with great warmth by the servants, some of whom had been with the Scott family for decades and remembered Castiel fondly as a quiet if occasionally mischievous young boy. The housekeeper gave them an approving smile when Castiel informed her that they required only one bedchamber, and after the first night, the maid began to leave them additional towels without a word spoken about them. Castiel blushed deeply at the discovery, but Dean admired the practicality that allowed them to preserve the bed linens from their passions.

The best part of visiting the Highland country, however, was the attire. A local laird held a ball in their honour, and to Dean’s utter delight, Castiel wore a kilt woven in the Scott tartan. It twirled enticingly during the country dances, and was extraordinarily convenient when Dean dragged Castiel into a dark corner of the gardens and ducked his head underneath it to bring his husband to completion with his mouth. The regalia found its way to their trunks to be brought home with them after that.

Upon their return to Inveresk House a month later, they found Michael feeling much recovered and welcoming them cheerfully with a surprise wedding gift: the title of the Scott estate in Oxfordshire. 

‘I rarely go south but to London anyway,’ he said when Castiel tried to argue, ‘and while it was always your preferred house because of the proximity to Charlie, it has never been as dear to me. You need a place to settle, and it comforts me to know that you will have the management of it. Of course, the income will still need to come to the duchy accounts, but the house is yours.’

The brothers embraced tightly, Castiel’s gratitude overwhelming him. ‘You are generosity itself. We thank you.’ 

They remained in Scotland long enough for another visit with Anna and to attend Crowley’s wedding, then set off to their new home in the south. Charlie was their first visitor, and insisted that now that they were neighbours and practically siblings, that Dean should also call her by her childhood nickname. It took several weeks of being corrected everytime he called her Lady Bradbury, but eventually he was able to do so.

They settled in well at Edlund Manor, though Dean insisted on calling it Novacque Manor when he wished to tease his husband. They had been living in wedded bliss for merely two months when the unthinkable happened. 

The express arrived in the middle of the night, which was never good news. Dean’s stomach turned with fear for Sam, but it quickly became clear that the missive was intended for Castiel. He paid the messenger with a trembling hand and tore open the seal; reading the first line was enough for Castiel to cry out and collapse to the ground.

‘Cas!’ Dean rushed to his husband’s side and held him as he cried. ‘What has happened?’

‘Michael is dead.’

‘Oh my darling, I am so sorry.’

‘He has suffered from the ague for so long, we all believed he would just continue to bear it forever, but his body apparently had enough.’ He read the rest of the letter and jumped to his feet. ‘Anna writes for us to hasten our return for the funeral. We must begin packing at once!’

Dean managed to calm his husband sufficiently to convince him that their valets were more than capable of packing their trunks, and managed to dress and feed him while preparations were made. They were away not long after daybreak, changing horses frequently and barely stopping to rest. As it was now late autumn, Anna had written that they would be able to keep the body long enough for Castiel to arrive if he hurried, so hurry they did. Fortunately, the roads were not yet in too poor a state, and they arrived in only four days.

The funeral was a sombre occasion; the duke had been well-liked and still young. Hester’s wails were only quieted when Castiel assured her that, as dowager duchess, she could remain at Inveresk House for the remainder of her life, or until she remarried should she wish to do so. Her greatest fear allayed, she became quite useful in the post-mortem arrangements, and by the time Castiel and Dean returned south, everything was in place for him to take up his seat in the House of Lords once his mourning period was over.

**********

_Three months later_

Dean hurried to greet Castiel at the door, not even allowing him to hand his coat to the footman before claiming a kiss. The young servant was so accustomed to such displays that he did not even react, simply waiting until the gentlemen released each other to complete his duty.

‘Did you miss me?’ Castiel teased.

‘Were you away? I had not noticed,’ Dean grinned back. ‘Of course I missed you. How was town? Did you conclude your business successfully?’

‘Town was town. You know how I loathe it. But yes, I have concluded my business, and with any luck, shall not need to return until Parliament resumes.’ He fiddled with Dean’s cravat and brushed away imaginary dust from his shoulders, just for an excuse to put his hands on his husband. ‘You should come with me next time, I am certain it would be much more pleasant with your company.’

‘And face the wrath of every mama who wanted you for her own son or daughter? Thank you, but I shall wait until the next highly eligible bachelor marries and they turn their sights on his poor spouse.’ Not content with the discreet touches from Castiel, Dean grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. ‘Now are you going to continue making small talk, or will you take your husband to bed?’

Castiel raised an eyebrow. ‘Dean, it is three in the afternoon.’

‘It would not be the first time that we absconded in the middle of the day for you to have your wicked way with me.’ Dean bit his lip and eyed his husband coyly. ‘You have been gone nearly a week. I have missed you desperately. Did you not miss me?’

‘You know not how much,’ Castiel growled in Dean’s ear. ‘You cannot imagine how much I craved you.’

‘I believe I can,’ Dean whispered back. ‘Take me to bed, Cas.’

Castiel did not need to be asked again. He grabbed Dean’s hand and they raced up the stairs together, not allowing themselves to be tempted into kissing along the way lest it slow them down. When they entered their bedchamber, Castiel pressed Dean against the door to make up for the time lost since they had left the entryway. 

‘This will not take long,’ Castiel confessed as his hands made busy undoing the falls of Dean’s trousers. His own were undone even more quickly, and it was only Dean’s laughter that made him pause from taking them both in hand right there. ‘What?’

‘There is a bed mere paces away, my love. Besides, I wish to see all of you, and I am certain the servants tire of washing our spend from our clothing so regularly.’ 

Castiel pouted, but stepped back and hurriedly removed his upper layers and boots while Dean just watched him with his bottom lip between his teeth. ‘Well, come on then. You were the one in such a hurry for me to take you to bed, yet here you stand still in your bloody coat,’ he groused.

‘My apologies.’ Dean made quick work of his own clothes, and as soon as the last stitch was off, found himself thrown to the bed. Castiel climbed on top, and this time did not hesitate to get his long fingers around them both. ‘Ah! Yes!’ Dean moaned. ‘But would you not rather-‘

‘Later,’ Castiel panted before Dean could offer another option. Satisfied that there would be more thorough debauchment after the initial desperation was dealt with, Dean let himself enjoy the sensations of Castiel’s clever hand, pulling him in for a kiss that quickly devolved into open mouths and shared breaths as the fever grew. Castiel went over the edge first with a cry of Dean’s name, and the added slickness of his spend drove Dean to follow soon after.

‘I believe your hands are my third- no, fourth- favourite part of you,’ Dean said when he could finally form words.

‘I did not realise you had ranked them.’

Dean shrugged. ‘Sometimes you fall asleep first and I must amuse myself.’

‘You know I must ask what the first three are.’

‘Well, I am certain you know what my favourite is,’ Dean smirked. ‘Then it is your eyes, followed by your lips.’ He touched each part in turn with a fingertip. ‘Closely following your hands…’ He grabbed a handful of Castiel’s arse to indicate the part in fifth position. ‘And in sixth are these delectable hip bones.’ He brought his hand back around to one of them, where the bruises he had sucked onto Castiel before his trip were faded to almost nothing. ‘The rest I cannot choose from. You are wholly delectable.’

‘Mmm, you are of a distinctly palatable disposition yourself, dear husband. When I am recovered I believe I shall have to run my tongue over your body just to remind myself of the flavour.’

‘This is why you should not stay away so long in future. Business that takes you to London should be more considerate of my husbandly needs.’

‘Speaking of business- you distracted me so thoroughly that I almost forgot. There was a letter for you in London.’ Castiel got out of bed to reach into his coat pocket, while Dean admired the view. 

‘For me? I have hardly spent enough time at the house in town to receive correspondence there.’

‘Apparently it was hand-delivered by a messenger from the Admiralty.’

That had Dean sitting straight up in the bed. ‘The Admiralty? What could they possibly want with me now?’

Castiel shrugged as he got back under the covers and handed Dean the letter. ‘Read it and find out.’

Dean tore open the seal and quickly scanned the contents. His eyes widened and colour rose in his cheeks; the letter was not long, but he read it twice, thrice, to ensure that his eyes did not deceive him. ‘Cas… they… they are reinstating my prize! They say there was a clerical error that led to the original judgement, they beg my pardon for the delay in…’ He stopped and looked at Castiel. ‘You did this, didn’t you?’

Castiel looked a bit sheepish. ‘I merely pointed out to them that the ship met the criteria for a prize and suggested that perhaps an error had been made.’

‘Suggested?’ Dean repeated, trying to hide a smile.

‘I _may_ also have implied that, with the war over, there was perhaps not as much need for the navy to be funded to the degree it has been of late, and that _perhaps_ I would mention this notion to my colleagues in the House of Lords when it came time to discuss such matters. Of course I did not suggest that the resolution of the error and the question of naval finance were in any way connected or dependent one upon the other, but if someone were to have inferred it themselves, that cannot be helped.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose _I_ am the extortionist now.’

He had expected Dean to laugh at the little joke, but instead he put down the letter and threw himself at Castiel. ‘You are the best husband who has ever lived,’ he said between the kisses he was planting all over Castiel’s face and neck. ‘First you rescued me from a loveless life, and now you rescue my fortunes as well.’

‘As you would not accept it from me directly, I thought the least I could do was use my influence to bring you that which was justly yours. Will it be sufficient to clear the debts on the estate?’

Dean read the letter again. ‘Aye, it shall, and leave a small sum for the marriage settlement.’

‘You wish to renegotiate?’ 

‘Not for us, Cas. For Sam and Miss Blake.’

‘Has he finally asked her then?’

‘No, but now he finally can. His lack of income prevented him from pursuing her. Now he can be the baronet in all but name, and use the income from the estate to make himself look a fine prospect to her father. I only wish I could actually grant him the title.’

‘You do not enjoy being a baronet?’

‘The title of captain meant more to me. And now being your husband is dearer to me still. I do not require the management of that small estate, and besides, it has always been much more a home for Sam than for me; I left it when I was but ten years old and have scarce spent more than a few months there over the years.’ He traced a finger down Castiel’s chest, letting himself get lost in his admiration of his husband’s form.

‘If you wish it, we could probably name him the heir for your title and lands. It is more customary to pass on to your eldest child, but ours will already have a plethora of holdings in their name.’

Dean smiled shyly. ‘I like the sound of that. Our child.’

‘I only wish we could have one the natural way. Perhaps if we repeat the activity frequently enough, God will reward us,’ Castiel teased.

Dean smirked and pushed Castiel onto his back, the better to straddle his hips. ‘Miracles happen every day, Cas. We might as well try.’


End file.
